The Fallibility of First Impressions
by LostInWho
Summary: As one of five daughters with a rather small income, Rose Tyler knew that many of her dreams would probably remain that way: dreams of seeing the world and marrying for love rather than security. However, the arrival of a wealthy family and a military regiment in town soon sets life in their quiet village upon its head. Based on the novel Pride and Prejudice.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: So, I think I might be slightly crazy for attempting this, but there it is. I adore Jane Austen, and this idea just wouldn't leave me alone. While the plot is essentially the same, I have obviously adapted the characters slightly, and the language is a bit more modern. As always, please review! : ) __Many thanks to my wonderful beta, lastincurableromantic._

* * *

The Tyler household was a flurry of excitement. Life in the country, filled with the quiet pastimes of rambling walks, everyday chores and familiar conversation, tended to fly into a frenzy at the slightest hint of gossip. And today's news was of no small moment.

The revelation was this... the Torchwood estate had found a tenant. _And_, the lessee was reputed to be a rich and quite dashing young bachelor. Such a man, of course, would be looking for a wife. At least this was the thought that had consumed Jacqueline Tyler's mind since first hearing the news. (And you may rest assured that she was not remotely alone in this assumption.)

As a mother of five daughters, Jackie Tyler was no stranger to worry. How could it be helped? The world was a hard place for women, and marriage was the best, most respectable, most sensible option, if not always the happiest. Indeed, it was the only proper path, in most minds, unless one wanted to die alone and penniless. And with five girls - count them, _five_ - to marry off and with no male heir... well, Jackie felt it was her duty to be on the lookout.

Their life in the village of Powell was comfortable and happy; certainly there were many who were much less fortunate than they. But it all rested on the shoulders of Peter Tyler, a man who, at the moment, was displaying a marked lack of sympathy for their situation.

"I don't know why you won't just go see the man!" Jackie exclaimed, her voice sharp with frustration.

"And why should I?" answered Pete, quite reasonably, he thought.

"Surely you've heard _something_ of him - handsome, friendly, _and_ rich, and taking a house nearby. He'd be a fine catch for one of our girls!" she replied, her delight at the prospect tamping down her ill temper. The daughters in question, who had been engaged in various tasks about the room, listened intently.

"Well, if that's the case, why not go with the girls yourself? You're much better suited to the task, although he might take a shine to you instead," he added, a twinkle of humor in his eye. Pete Tyler loved his wife, despite her sometimes volatile temper and incessant meddling. Their marriage was not always easy, though he admitted his fault in this, as he often enjoyed getting a rise out of her (as he was now). They fought often and rarely saw eye-to-eye. Sometimes he longed for a retreat, a break from his wife's complaints and his daughters' silliness. Yet even though she sometimes drove him to distraction, she was a passionate, strong woman, and they were devoted to each other. His mouth twitched into a small smile at the sharp yet loving look she gave him.

"Oh, you..." she replied, humor tinging the exasperation in her tone. "Wouldn't be proper for us to go first, without any sort of introduction!"

"Well, that's easily fixed. I'll send you with a note saying that he's more than welcome to court any of my silly girls." He winked at Rose, his second eldest, who was watching their exchange with amusement. "Rosie is a bit clever, though. He might take a fancy to her."'

"Yes, yes... and Donna is lovely and Lucy delightful; but we'll never know _what_ Mr. Harkness likes if we never get to meet him," she bit back. She railed for a moment at Lynda, who was suffering from an unfortunately timed bout of coughing, before she continued. "Oh, let's talk of something else. I can't bear to think about him any more."

"That is unfortunate," Pete replied, his face admirably solemn, "as I visited him just this morning. Oh, well. I'm afraid you shall just have to make the best of it, for we can't avoid him now."

The room erupted with surprised movement and happy exclamations. Jackie flew to her husband's side, pressing a hard kiss to his cheek before rounding on her daughters. "See what a wonderful father you have! Teasing us like that! Now, I wonder how soon he'll come 'round?"

* * *

Rose padded quietly down the steps, through the darkened hall, and out the side door that led into the gardens. The Tyler house was blessedly quiet, its inhabitants having worn themselves out with the day's exciting news. The air had a slight chill in it that she embraced, taking a deep breath of the crisp night air even as she pulled her dressing gown more snugly about her.

The moon was nearly full, casting a pale light over the stone path and gardens spread out around her. Rose gazed up into the inky darkness pierced by countless pinpricks of light. Her heart always soared at the sight, feeling at once so very small and yet so fortunate. Standing here on this tiny little planet, breathing its air, witnessing its beauty... so very _alive_. She liked to lose herself this way sometimes, to remember that life was so much more than this small village, than the society that at times seemed to wall her in. Though she would always find joy in life, no matter her situation, Rose longed to do more, to see more. To marry whom she chose, and only for the deepest love.

The soft grass tickled her bare feet, the stars twinkled silently up above, and Rose Tyler dreamed.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: So we're getting into it, folks. I adore the Jennifer Ehle/Colin Firth mini-series, so you might feel a bit of that in here. Hope you enjoy it! (and please let me know if you do!)_

* * *

The night of the ball at the Jones' home, the first event since the arrival of the new neighbors, fell crisp and clear. The Tyler family shared in the aura of gaiety and anticipation, with perhaps one exception. The middle child of the family, Joan's quiet manner and general shyness made her uncomfortable and awkward at such events. She much preferred the company of her beloved books, though when called upon she took some pleasure in playing upon their fine piano. The rest of the girls, however, were brimming with delight, decked out in their finest dresses and eager to discover what the evening had in store.

An unnatural hush descended on the assembly as all eyes focused on the entryway. Jack Harkness and his party made quite an entrance with their luxurious clothes and dignified manners. Thankfully, Mr. Harkness quickly sought to dispel the awkward silence, breezing through the room with ease and joy. By the end of the night he had unwittingly captured the hearts of many of the ladies present. He was handsome and charming with dark hair, blue eyes, and a winning smile. His sisters were graceful, almost regal in their bearing, with dresses far richer than any the village had ever seen.

But eventually most eyes lighted on his friend, Mr. Smith, tall and trim with an air of nobility and power, and rumored to possess an even larger fortune. He was impeccably dressed, his brown eyes deep and intense, and his hair... Rose had heard about the new style and giggled at the thought, but the reality inspired an altogether different, slightly unsettling response. The dark brown locks were artfully unruly, and were matched with long, trim sideburns that framed his handsome face. _With all these people, perhaps they should open the windows for a bit_, Rose thought, as the room suddenly seemed a bit warm.

His admirers quickly fell away, however, as he remained aloof and condescending throughout the evening, refusing to dance despite an obvious lack of partners. Those intelligent eyes held none of his friend's warmth, instead looking about him with disdain.

Rose, on the other hand, enjoyed the evening greatly, dancing and mingling happily with her friends. She wore her finest dress of pale pink muslin, and Hill, their maid, had helped her do her honey blonde hair up in a fancy chignon with tiny pink flowers wound through it. She had danced once with Mr. Harkness and enjoyed his company immensely; he was open, friendly, and amusing, and she thought that they might eventually become good friends. However, she watched with a secret joy as he seemed drawn to Donna, Rose's older sister, asking her to dance repeatedly. Rose detected a bit of her sister's spark shining through her calm demeanor when she talked with him. Being the eldest placed a lot of pressure on Donna; her fiery spirit had been caged and hidden away many years ago, as the weight of expectations and familial duty pulled on her. As her sister and friend, Rose hoped with all her heart that Donna might be fortunate enough to find a husband who would bring her happiness as well as security.

_We could use a few more men_, Rose mused, though she didn't mind much as she rested her feet for a moment, content to observe the dancers twirling before her. She chatted quietly with Joan, who never danced, about their favorite authors and composers. Her sharp eyes often returned to the dance, though, observing Donna's radiant smile and her younger sisters' capering.

In the midst of her observations, however, she overheard a rather unfortunate conversation between the elegant Mr. Smith, who had been standing nearby, and his friend. "Why aren't you dancing, John?" questioned Mr. Harkness. _A reasonable question_, thought Rose. "Why on earth are you just standing about? Come on, old man! Enjoy yourself."

Mr. Smith leveled a proud glare at his friend. "Jack, you know I don't dance. Particularly not _here_," he declared, a slight sneer marring his handsome face. "Besides, your sisters already have partners, and you are dancing with the most attractive girl in the room." An odd look -_ envy, perhaps_? - quickly passed over his face as he took in Donna's brilliant red hair.

"She is amazing, isn't she?" he crowed proudly. "But you are making a fool out of yourself, John! I've never met so many friendly and attractive girls under one roof." Slightly lower, yet not quite low enough, he added, "Miss Tyler's sister sits right over there. She is pretty and intelligent, too. I quite think you would like her."

Despite her discomfort, Rose looked up boldly, only to see him cast a perfunctory glance in her direction before replying. "She is passably pretty, I suppose. But I have no desire to dance with anyone, Mr. Harkness, much less with a wallflower. Now stop hounding me. Go enjoy your frivolity and leave me in peace."

Rose fought the flush that threatened to creep over her face. Perhaps the rich thought it was their right to be insufferably rude. She, however, did not agree, and with her dignity intact (for what did she care what some arrogant blighter thought of her?), she made her way across the room, a secret smile playing across her face. She then proceeded to relate the conversation to her friend, Martha Jones, her eyes sparkling and her voice tinged with laughter. Her animated features and irrepressible joy unknowingly caught the attention of their subject, whose dark eyes watched her with interest and a surprising twinge of shame.

* * *

Much to Mr. Tyler's dismay, the ladies returned home bubbling over with excitement and eager to relate the evening's events to those unfortunate enough to have missed it (namely, him). He put aside his book with a sigh.

"Oh, what a night we had, Mr. Tyler! An absolutely _lovely_ ball! Why, you've never seen the like! Donna was greatly admired, of course, and Mr. Harkness seemed very taken with her. Asked her to dance four times! So handsome and gentleman-like, he was, not stuffy at all. Full of smiles and kind words, especially for our Donna!"

Donna, flustered, tried in vain to stop the heat that rose to her face, coloring her cheeks to match her hair. Seeing her distress, Rose reached over and gently squeezed her hand, while Pete endeavored to cut off Jackie's detailed description of the ladies' gowns.

With a small huff, Jackie changed the subject. "That _friend_ of his, though. _Mr. Smith_. Well, I've never met such an arrogant, disagreeable man! I don't care what he's worth!" Pete started a bit, caught off guard by his wife's vehemence. The man must have been quite rude to merit such an absolute dismissal from Jackie. "He snubbed our Rose, he did! Right in front of her, too. I mean, who does he think he is?"

A frown crossed Pete's face. Meeting Rose's eyes, he was relieved to see her grinning at him, eyes smiling and lips pressed tightly to contain her laughter. _Stupid man_, he thought to himself. _Probably just lost the respect of one of the best women in all of England_.

* * *

"He is kind and funny, though, and so easy to talk to," Donna confided in Rose that night as the two got ready for bed. "A little flirtatious. Not at all what I expected."

"And quite easy on the eyes, too," Rose replied, her face contemplative.

Donna giggled into her hand, at which Rose quirked an eyebrow and smiled saucily, sending Donna into peals of rather unladylike laughter. Rose grinned. She loved seeing her favorite sister loosen up, as she so rarely did in public. "Honestly, I was a bit surprised at him asking me to dance so often, though."

"And why should you be?" Rose answered, failing to disguise the exasperation in her tone.

Donna looked away. "I'm nothing special. I mean... I'm not..." she trailed off, suddenly fascinated by the pattern in the rug.

Rose grabbed her hands, bending down until she caught her sister's eyes. "You are amazing, Donna Tyler. You just refuse to believe it. You are smart and beautiful and _important_." Her eyes bored into her sister's, willing her to truly _hear_ her. "I watched you with him tonight, you know. You let your guard down, and he couldn't take his eyes off you. Yes, I think I like him very much. He might be just what you need," she finished, nodding her head decidedly.

Donna shook her head a little, her lips pursed, still unconvinced. However, her eyes were hopeful as she looked at her sister, the person who knew her best and loved her so completely. "Well, we'll see. You always have thought too much of me." Suddenly she pulled Rose into a desperate hug, her voice slightly wobbly. "Thanks."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Dear lovely readers - please review! They really mean a lot to me, and I truly appreciate the feedback._

_Thanks to my beta, lastincurableromantic._

* * *

With the exception of Jack Harkness, the new residents of Torchwood left the ball with a distinct feeling of dissatisfaction and superiority. Jack had enjoyed the evening immensely, feeling a freedom in the relaxed and friendly atmosphere that stood in stark contrast to the formal, stuffy affairs they usually attended. His sisters and his friend, however, had declared the evening a waste, finding little beauty or entertainment amongst such "inferior" company. As the families became acquainted over the weeks that followed, they all agreed that the eldest Tyler girls were quite pleasant and worth knowing better, to Jack's immense relief. The rest of the Tyler family, particularly the mother and youngest sisters, were lamented as a lost cause.

As friends went, Jack Harkness and John Smith could hardly be more different. Jack was easy-going and affable, quick to to make a joke or a new friend. While John valued the easy temper of his friend, he did not share it or seek to emulate it. Their friendship was built on mutual respect, their opposite natures balancing each other. Jack, while intelligent, acknowledged his friend's brilliance and often deferred to his opinions and advice. However, though he was greatly admired and respected, John's reserved and haughty demeanor did little to endear him to others. Jack held the honor of being his closest and truest friend.

During their visits, Mr. Harkness' sisters showed a considerable regard for Donna and a smiling civility towards Rose. Though she tried, Rose could not like them, unable to ignore the polite condescension with which they treated everyone, even her sister. However, whenever they met, the teasing words and smiles that passed between her sister and Mr. Harkness gave Rose great joy. Her sister was quite obviously (in Rose's eyes, at least) falling for him, and the look of adoration in his eyes was unmistakeable.

* * *

Several weeks later saw the families once again gathered for a ball, though this time with the welcome addition of many officers from the military regiment newly arrived in Meryton. Partners were no longer in short supply, and Lucy and Lynda (among others) were positively giddy at the prospect.

Rose and Martha stood to one side in quiet conversation, happy for a chance to talk together. They had been friends for years, since the days of learning letters, scraped knees, and scampering like wild things about the countryside, and still kept each other's confidences.

"Mr. Harkness seems quite smitten with your sister," Martha observed, nodding at the couple across the room. Jack appeared to be regaling her with a story quite animatedly, and Rose could tell that Donna was struggling to maintain her composure. She looked both amused and enthralled, and neither one seemed aware of anything but each other.

A fond smile lit Rose's face. "I think she is well on her way to being in love," she confided.

"Really?" Martha asked, surprised. "I mean, she seems happy, yeah. But... do you think he knows? I mean, really knows? Men can be so insecure and fickle. Sometimes it's up to us to help them make up their minds."

Rose looked at her friend with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "I'm sure he can tell. There's no hurry, Martha. They've only known each other for a few weeks, after all. She might not even know herself, yet."

"I would just hate for her to lose him, is all," Martha replied, sighing. "He obviously cares for her. She should leave no doubt in his mind of her affection. Happiness in marriage is such a matter a chance. He can offer her everything she needs, plus a better chance at a happy union than most."

"Perhaps," Rose laughed, "but I know that _I_ could never pretend to feel more than I do. And I'm sure you couldn't, either."

Martha knew that, though neither of them would budge, their failure to agree would not harm their friendship. Friends that have been together so long are bound to disagree and often, especially when both were clever and stubborn, but it was the deeper things that bound them together. The memories, promises, and secrets; the quarrels, the scrapes, and the laughter. And between her and Rose there had always been a rare openness and honesty: about their families, about their frustrations with the world and their place in it, about their desire to see more and do more than what was expected of them.

With a slight shrug, Martha changed the subject. "I've noticed Mr. Smith watching you a fair bit this evening," Martha said, with (to her credit) only a hint of jealousy in her voice. Arrogant he might be, but there was no denying that the man was gorgeous.

"Oh, good. Thought I was just being paranoid." Rose glanced at the man in question, who hastily averted his gaze. "I can't understand it, though. I mean, I was hardly worthy of his highness' notice before, right?" she remarked dryly, earning a chuckle from Martha. "Now he stares, all broody and forbidding? A bit rude, that." Her gaze flitted across the dance floor to where Lynda and Lucy were beginning to draw a bit too much attention to themselves. "I'd better go save what's left of our dignity. Back in a moment."

* * *

As the evening wore on, John Smith found his attention frequently (albeit reluctantly) drawn to the young woman whose company he had so recently spurned. He had been so uncomfortable that night, and yes, somewhat repulsed by their new situation, that he had dismissed her out-of-hand. However, he was certainly aware of her now. The way her eyes sparked with intelligence and mirth as she talked, the unpracticed lightness with which she moved and danced, the playfulness and ease of her manner. At that moment she looked up, her eyes curious and defiant. Caught between an intense longing to know her better and embarrassment at being found staring, he looked away, only to find himself face-to-face with their host, Mr. Jones.

"Lovely way to pass an evening, isn't it?" he blustered, pleased with the gaiety he saw around him. "Dancing truly is a high and noble art. Will you not join in, Mr. Smith?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. I do not dance as a rule, except under the direst of circumstances," he replied. "And I think you will find that all manner of people, rogues and thieves as well as lords and ladies, can dance."

"That's true, I suppose," Mr. Jones admitted good-naturedly. At that moment Rose was making her way past them, hoping to mitigate the antics of her sisters. Mr. Jones seized the opportunity to test their new neighbor's somewhat ridiculous principles.

"Miss Rose! You look lovely, my dear," he exclaimed, catching her hand as she passed by. Rose couldn't help smiling at her friend's slightly eccentric father, despite his present company. "Here, Mr. Smith, you have one of the prettiest darlings of our town. Can you truly refuse such a tempting partner?"

Rose blushed at the all-too-familiar predicament, and John found himself even more captivated as a glow worthy of her name crept across her cheeks. Before his mind could catch up, he found himself requesting her hand for the next dance, though he noticed as he did that she was gently removing her hand from Mr. Jones'.

"Thank you kindly, but I am not inclined to dance, and I certainly wasn't seeking an invitation," Rose declared firmly.

"But you are such a joy to watch, Miss Rose, that even Mr. Smith, who I hear generally refuses to dance, could not resist you," he persisted.

John felt an odd twinge in his stomach again as Rose met his gaze, arching one dark eyebrow in disbelief. "Mr. Smith is all politeness," she replied with a small smile before turning away.

As he watched her go, he was surprised at himself. He had almost stood up to dance, in this place full of strangers, his inferiors no less, and had only been saved from such an exhibition by the refusal of this perplexing creature. He felt intrigued rather than injured. Lost in contemplation, he hardly noticed when Jack's sister appeared at his side.

"I can imagine what you must be thinking. How awful it will be to have to spend much time in society such as this. I find them simple, uncouth, and far too boisterous, completely lacking in taste or refinement. Not that I expected much more from a small country village. I can't wait to hear your opinion of the evening," she murmured, quite sure of his sympathy.

"Indeed, you are quite mistaken," he drawled, his eyes still fixed on Rose. "I have been lost in much happier thoughts. Namely, the considerable joy which a pair of lovely eyes in the face of a beautiful woman can bestow."

"And whose eyes have wrought such admiration?" she purred, her face a mixture of surprise and hopeful confidence.

"Miss Rose Tyler's," he replied, his voice trying out the name, wrapping around the syllables almost reverently.

"Miss Rose Tyler! I am properly stunned!" Here she paused for a moment before collecting herself, shock still evident in her beautiful features. "And from such a charming family! Do let us know when you've set a date," she quipped, her cultured voice laced with sarcasm. Receiving no response to her taunts, Reinette turned gracefully on her heel and swept out to the room.


	4. Chapter 4

_Reviews are always welcome! :)_

_Beta'd_ _by_ _lastincurableromantic_

* * *

The arrival of the militia invigorated the town of Meryton, which began to bustle with new life and vigor. Routine affairs were suddenly much more interesting with so many new faces to learn and speculate upon.

This last activity consumed the minds of Lynda and Lucy Tyler, who darted into town at every possible turn. They never failed to return home with either a detailed account of the officers they had met or the latest gossip from their mother's sister, Aunt Philips.

One such afternoon, it all became too much for Pete Tyler to take. While Donna sewed and Joan and Rose were lost in their books, Lucy and Lynda told their mother about their latest favorite, Captain Mitchell. Bouts of giggling interrupted their story, and nothing much was gleaned from the conversation except that the boy had quite a gift for flattery and was rather "pretty."

"Please, can we stop this nonsense; my ears can't take much more," Mr. Tyler exclaimed, irritation creeping into his usually calm voice. "Surely I have two of the silliest daughters in the country."

Lucy gave a careless shrug and continued with her conversation, but Lynda looked a bit hurt, her brow furrowed and lip pouting out slightly.

Jackie glared at her husband. "Why would you say that? About your own children, too?"

"It is the truth, and to deny it would only make me as foolish as they," he declared simply, though he smiled just a little at Lynda to soften his words.

Huffing slightly, Jackie muttered something about "your own kin," then continued more loudly, "They're still young yet. If that doesn't entitle them to a little silliness, I don't know what does. Oh, I remember your aunt and I mooning over the officers when we were your age," she said, smiling at her youngest daughters as she reminisced. "No harm in it. No shame, either, and much more helpful in finding a husband than _reading_," she declared, raising her voice to ensure that the others in the room, who had wisely remained silent, heard her. She needn't have bothered; few could miss hearing Jackie Tyler, even if they wanted to.

Any further discussion was cut short by the arrival of a note for Donna from Torchwood. "Well, what is it? What does it say? Oh, just give it here," Jackie demanded, snatching the note from Donna's hands, unable to bear the suspense. Donna flushed slightly, looking down.

_"Dearest friend," _she read aloud, _"We would be immensely pleased if you would dine with us today, as on our own my sister and I might despise each other by the day's end. The men are dining with the officers tonight. Please come soon. Yours ever, Reinette Harkness."_ Jackie paused, frowning slightly. "Well, that's quite fine, though it is a shame Mr. Harkness won't be there."

Donna chose not to acknowledge her last comment. "May I take the carriage?" she asked. She felt honored by the attention and kindness the fine ladies had shown her, and secretly was rather curious and eager to visit the home of the man she, well... the man whose company she so enjoyed.

"No, no, Donna. You will go on horseback. It looks likely to rain, and then you will have to stay the night." Jackie smiled, delighted with her scheme.

Distress crossed Donna's face. _Why must mum always be so meddlesome?_ She quickly chastised herself for the thought, but Rose didn't hesitate to jump to her defense.

"Your plan is quite clever, mum, but won't they just offer to send her home themselves?" she asked. Any hint of the fond amusement she usually felt towards her mother was lost in her concern for Donna's mortified feelings and frustration with her mother's carelessness towards the propriety and safety of such a plan.

"The men will have taken the coach to town. And the carriage horses are needed for the farm." Here all eyes turned to Pete, who spared a sympathetic look for Donna even as he nodded. "See, she must ride, and it will all work out well. You'll see," Jackie affirmed smugly, feeling quite satisfied with the arrangement.

* * *

The skies opened up not a quarter of an hour after Donna's departure. Her mother happily proclaimed the brilliance of her idea, despite the concern voiced by Rose and her sisters. Donna would have to remain at Torchwood until morning. Jackie felt hopeful, confident that it was only a matter of time before her eldest daughter obtained a beau, and one who would undoubtedly make her very happy, too. Why couldn't the others see it? She assured them that there was no need to fret. She was only helping things along.

In the morning a note arrived for Rose from her sister. Donna had taken a slight chill from her rather wet journey, and her hosts had insisted that she stay and had sent for the doctor as well. Though she told them not to worry, Rose, who had spent much of the night doing just that, promptly rose to leave.

"Don't be silly," Jackie chided, a bit surprised by Rose's reaction. "She will be well taken care of, I'm sure. Besides, it's almost three miles, and you don't ride."

"I will walk," Rose replied simply.

"You will be a sight! Do talk some sense into the girl," she implored of her husband, whose own eyes showed his concern.

"I daresay if Rosie's made up her mind, we can't stop her," he replied. Rose nodded at him as their eyes met, an unspoken agreement passing between them.

Lucy and Lynda walked with her as far as town, where they hoped to "happen upon" the officers. Rose then continued on alone, following the little tree-lined path out of town. As she cut across the familiar fields that led to the Torchwood estate, she lifted her skirts just a bit and broke into a run, tilting her face to the now clear sky, the wind pulling at her hair, feet flying.

She had loved to run ever since she was a girl. As she got older, however, she rarely had the freedom to do so, and when a chance arose she took it. No one was here to see her and criticize; it was just her and the sun and the sky, and the soft earth beneath her feet. Though she knew she would look quite wild when she arrived, Rose honestly couldn't find it in herself to care. Maybe she was wild. Wild and free and _alive_, and she would not pretend to be something she wasn't, especially not for them. Plus she would get to see Donna sooner, which was her only concern. She abandoned herself to the feel of the blood coursing through her veins and the way her lungs burned for the crisp clean air as she flew across the meadow, slowing only when the house came into sight.

Rose's arrival caused quite a stir, though after a moment of shock she was received politely by the dignified party. Scanning the room and finding Donna absent, she quickly voiced her desire to see her and was promptly led to the formal yet luxurious room where her sister was resting.

"Oh!" Donna exclaimed as Rose entered, her eyes misting over with joy and relief as she tried unsuccessfully to push herself up in the bed. Rose moved quickly to her side, pulling her into a gentle hug before firmly urging her to lay back down. Masking her concern at her sister's frailty, Rose brushed Donna's hair back from her face, which was more pale than usual.

"'S alright now, sweetheart, I'm here. Just rest," she said, clasping Donna's hands in hers. Their mother's endearments flowed naturally from her lips, linked as they were to moments of sickness and comfort, when her love for them shone brightest. It hurt to see her sister so weak, and she felt confirmed in her decision to visit. Rose knew her sister well. Though Donna tended to downplay her own wants and needs to others', never wanting to impose, she had obviously been delighted to see Rose and taken comfort in her presence. Rose found herself wishing that she did not have to leave in a few short hours.

* * *

Several hours later, she reluctantly prepared to head home as the sun began to touch the treetops in the west. Donna would have to remain per the doctor's orders, as she had caught a rather nasty cold; her headache and fever were worsening. With a tender kiss to her cheek, Rose stood to leave, promising to visit again in the morning. Donna trembled, grasping desperately at her sister's hands and pleading softly for her to stay. The ladies of the house, who had been visiting with them quietly, kindly acquiesced, sending a servant to the Tyler home to relate the news and bring back some of Rose's things. For a brief moment Rose's heart warmed to them, and she gratefully accepted their kind hospitality.

* * *

At six o'clock Rose was summoned to dinner. She had changed earlier, and Donna was sleeping almost peacefully at the moment. So she tidied herself and went down, feeling it was the proper thing to do. They had been willing enough to let her stay, and she knew that it would please Donna.

However, at dinner the sisters were once again cool and indifferent, showing little concern for their "friend's" health before forgetting her entirely. Their complete attention was soon focused on the clever and handsome Mr. Smith, whom Rose endeavored to ignore entirely. She noted with pleasure the genuine concern with which Mr. Harkness asked about her sister, and spent much of the meal in easy conversation with him. He assured her that whatever she or her sister needed would be attended to immediately, and he hoped for a quick recovery of her health. Rose graced him with a real smile, the first since her arrival there, which he returned. The more she got to know the man, the more she liked him, feeling the beginnings of friendship stirring between them. However, she left after dinner eager to return to her sister and happy to be free of the company of the rest.

* * *

Almost as soon as she left the room, Rose became the topic of conversation.

"The girl has no breeding or class whatsoever. She is unrefined and common, which, considering her family, is not surprising, yet astonishingly proud and impertinent, too!" Reinette declared archly, seeming affronted at having been forced to endure her very presence.

"She certainly isn't very _pretty_," her sister added, hands daintily smoothing her elegant dress. "Though I suppose she is an excellent walker. The sight of her this morning! Why, she looked almost feral!"

"I quite agree, Cassandra! I nearly laughed aloud. It is all quite ridiculous: scampering about the countryside, _alone,_ and arriving in such a state, all because of a little cold?! And did you see her dress?" Reinette continued in a mock whisper, ignoring her brother's glare.

"I find her quite pretty, in fact, and her devotion and care for her sister is natural and admirable," Jack replied.

"Weren't _you_ appalled, though, Mr. Smith? I fear perhaps this escapade has hurt your admiration for her_ lovely eyes_?" she teased.

"No indeed," came John's reply, pleasant but firm. "They were bright and lively from her walk."

Reinette paused a moment, deciding a change of subject might be wise. "Donna is a dear, though. I would so love to see her happily matched, though with such a family I fear it is unlikely," she remarked, her tone tinged with both sympathy and disgust.

Cassandra sniffed. "I heard that one uncle is a lawyer, and that another lives in _Cheapside_."

"And exactly how does that matter? It certainly does not make them any less lovely or their company less charming," Jack retorted, already feeling quite protective of both the women upstairs.

"No," John replied, regarding Jack with great solemnity and concern. "It will, however, likely keep them from marrying men with any degree of status or importance in the world."

Jack did not reply, though he looked quite unhappy. His sisters, after seconding John's opinion and lamenting the lot of "poor Donna," soon moved on to other, less divisive, conversation.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: Thanks for reading (and for the lovely support!:)_

_Beta'd by the wonderful lastincurableromantic._

* * *

After her happy retreat from dinner, Rose anxiously returned to Donna's room. Her sister looked tired and flushed, though her face lit up as Rose sat down beside her on the bed and gently laid a hand across her forehead. Upon feeling the warmth there, Rose crossed the room to the dresser, returning with a bowl filled with water and a soft cloth that she'd requested earlier. Since Donna was awake and seemed happy to have company, Rose entertained her with a colorful account of the day, all the while cooling her face and neck with the damp cloth. While she didn't feel much like talking, Donna listened quite contentedly, managing a weak laugh at the picture Rose created of her "shocking" arrival. When Rose mentioned Jack's kindness and solicitude, a soft smile graced her features that warmed her sister's heart. There was no mistaking it. Her sister was in love.

* * *

Later in the evening Rose returned to find her hosts engaged in a game of cards. Feeling little inclined to join them, she looked casually about the room. Delight lit her face when she spotted the bookcase. She eagerly and thoroughly perused its contents before selecting a small volume of Shakespeare's sonnets and settling on the sofa before the fire. When she politely refused the offer to join their game, Reinette looked up in surprise.

"Miss Rose Tyler loves to read," she declared, "and thinks herself above such _common_ entertainment as cards."

"I _do_ enjoy books," Rose replied honestly, quelling her impulse to react to the spiteful woman, "but I find joy in many things."

"I wish I had more books for you to choose from," Jack said, once again coming to her rescue, "but unfortunately I do not, as I rarely open them myself."

"You have a tremendous library at Gallifrey, Mr. Smith," Reinette commented to the man in question.

"I like to think so. My family has accumulated quite a few over the years," he replied, "and I seek to add to it whenever I can. Books are an invaluable source of information and entertainment, and our greatest defense against ignorance."

Rose, following the conversation with interest, could not hide the look of wistfulness that crossed her features. An honest-to-goodness library, filled with hundreds of adventures just waiting to be explored... it sounded like a dream. She had read almost every book in their home, and knew her favorites by heart. Feeling the weight of his gaze, Rose knew she'd been caught daydreaming, and her eyes briefly met Mr. Smith's curious ones before flitting back to the book in her lap.

"Has your sister grown much since we last saw her?" Reinette asked.

"Perhaps a little," John replied. "I'd guess she is now close to Miss Rose Tyler's height."

"Oh, I miss her exceedingly!" she exclaimed. "She is such a delightful girl, so poised and gracious. And she plays like an angel."

Jack shook his head in wonder. "Women never cease to amaze me. They are all so accomplished! I don't think I'd have the patience."

"Really, brother!" Reinette laughed, reaching over to pat his hand. "Dear Jack, you are so easily impressed. Do share with us this lovely feminine illusion of yours."

Shrugging off his sister's derision, Jack smiled. "Perhaps I am. Yet each young lady I meet paints, sews, and plays, in addition to her other merits," he replied while wiggling his eyebrows at Rose, who struggled to contain her laughter.

"Indeed, by that standard, many might be considered so," John admitted, slightly distracted by the playful camaraderie between his friend and their guest. "However, even with all of the ladies I have met in society both here and abroad, I believe very few could truly be called _accomplished_."

Rose's eyes met his, fire replacing the humor that had filled them moments ago. "You hold us to a very high standard, then, Mr. Smith."

"I do," he replied solemnly. "Just as I do for all people, particularly myself."

"But of course you do," Reinette exclaimed. "To truly be considered accomplished, a lady must surpass such simple, ordinary skills. She excels in the arts of dancing, singing, drawing, and music and can converse in several languages. Her company is pleasing and desired by many, and there is grace and elegance in whatever she does," she concluded, her chin lifted proudly.

"I suppose so," John agreed, "yet I think something more substantial is needed as well. A passion for life and learning that leads one to hunger for knowledge, and to strengthen one's mind through ample reading."

Though her brown eyes widened slightly at this comment, Rose held his gaze as she replied. "That's quite a list. I am rather surprised that you know even _one _woman who lives up to such expectations."

John started a bit at that, eyebrows raised. "Surely _you_ believe women to be capable of such excellence, if they are clever enough to pursue it?"

"Maybe, if one truly desired it. But if such a woman exists, I'm sure I've never met her," Rose declared, smiling slightly. Sophisticated and elegant she might not be, but Rose Tyler knew who she was and embraced it without shame. A tiny part of her, well, perhaps not-so-tiny, found glee in watching her words hit their mark, as the other ladies began to protest rather adamantly. Soon their attention was called back to their game, however, and Rose quietly excused herself.

Reinette began to berate her almost immediately. "Miss Rose Tyler is one of those girls who belittles her own sex to gain the favor of men. Quite a distasteful trick, if you ask me, though I'm sure it works on some."

Hardly looking up, Mr. Smith murmured, "Anything involving cunning or deceit, whether used to attract attention to oneself or malign the character of another, is degrading to all involved, and ought to be avoided."

His words quite effectively silenced that avenue of conversation.

* * *

The next morning Donna's face looked a bit brighter, though at her request their mother was still sent for. While Rose hardly desired the discomfort that would undoubtedly arise from such a visit, she knew that by now her family would be quite concerned, and that seeing Donna would bring comfort and reassurance to all of them.

Jackie Tyler arrived with a giggling Lucy and Lynda in tow, much to Rose's dismay. However, Jackie was soon in her element: bustling about Donna's room, opening the windows "because a little fresh air can do a world of good," readjusting her pillows, and ordering the servants to bring up some herbal tea and toast. She patted Donna's hand affectionately, and her daughter smiled. Her meddlesome and demanding nature notwithstanding, Jackie loved her family with the fierceness of a mama wolf protecting her cubs.

Yet upon arriving downstairs, Rose found herself doubting the wisdom of her decision. Though Donna was still sick, Jackie was now satisfied that she would recover soon and fully, and she was determined that her daughter would remain at Torchwood for as long as possible. And so when Mr. Harkness, whom she had such hopes for, kindly asked after Donna, she replied, "She is still quite ill, poor thing, too weak even to stand. I hope you might let her stay just a bit longer."

"No, no! I mean - of course she must stay!" Jack cried, alarmed at the notion of her leaving. "I wouldn't dream of letting her go 'til she is quite well again."

"Of course," Reinette agreed, her tone polite yet reserved. "Rest assured, Mrs. Tyler. We will see that she receives the best care."

"You are too kind," Jackie gushed, her pleasure evident. "She is lucky to have made such good and considerate friends." Pausing to look admiringly at the fine decor of the room, she continued, "The house looks very nice, Mr. Harkness. I've always said this estate is one of the finest in the county. We do hope you plan to stay awhile," she remarked hopefully.

"Well, I can be a bit impulsive, to which my friends will readily attest," Jack admitted honestly. "When... _if_ I decide to leave, I would go rather quickly. However, at the moment, I am quite content here."

Rose smiled at him. "'S just what I'd expect of you."

He spun to look at her. "What? You think you already know me so well?"

"Mmmhmm." Rose could barely contain her laughter at the shocked expression on his face, though she didn't miss the twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes.

"I am not sure whether to be flattered or ashamed at being so easy to read," he replied.

"You are _you_," she said with candor. "One's worth is not dependent on the complexity of one's character." _Or the class into which you are born_, she added silently.

"Rose, do hold your tongue. We are their guests!" Jackie implored, dismayed at her daughter's open impudence, though not entirely shocked.

Jack continued on, unfazed. "I didn't know you were a student of character. It must be very entertaining."

"Quite. And the most complex people are often the most diverting; I'll give them that," Rose replied, brown eyes sparking.

Here the quiet Mr. Smith chimed in quite unexpectedly. "Surely there are few such people of interest in the country, where you are destined to meet with only the same few characters each day."

"Yet people are always changing, and so there is always something new to observe in them."

"That's quite right, Rose," Jackie huffed, indignant at Mr. Smith's assumption. "We've got quite enough going on here to keep life interesting, I can assure you, and it's much more pleasant than the city, of that I'm sure."

Mr. Smith spared her a cool look before turning away in silence. Mr. Harkness, however, jumped in, declaring that he tended to prefer whatever place he happened to inhabit at that moment, earning him another grin from Rose.

"That's because _you_ are so amiable," Jackie said, "while _himself_ over there thinks nothing of the country."

Rose wished she could sink into the floor. "Stop it, mum," she pled quietly. "Mr. Smith only meant that we meet with less variety of people here than in town, which you know to be true."

"Well of course, sweetheart. But we do know a great number of people, more than most towns around here have. Why, we dine with at least twenty families!" Jackie declared proudly.

For the sake of his new friend, Jack valiantly fought to contain his amusement. His sisters, however, did not, delicate titters of laughter escaping from their turned faces. Rose quickly distracted her mother by asking after the Jones', which led to a rather biased comparison between Donna and Martha.

Thankfully, the end of the visit was almost in sight. Jackie and the girls were preparing to leave when Lucy, with youthful impertinence, abruptly put herself forward. Throughout the visit she and Lynda had been blessedly preoccupied with their own whispered conversation. The conclusion of which was that Lucy would ask Mr. Harkness about an earlier mention he'd made of hosting a ball.

"Of course!" Jack replied willingly, though he quickly added a stipulation. "As soon as your sister is better. You can even name the date."

The girls squealed and clapped their hands, and Rose moved quickly to the doors, ushering them towards the waiting carriage. After seeing them off, she quickly made her escape from the others, hardly meeting their eyes. She only just managed to keep from sprinting up the stairs to the haven of Donna's sickroom, quite sure of what the talk downstairs would be. She was surprised by the degree of her mortification over her family's behavior, realizing with a start that the opinion of at least one of the people in that room now mattered to her.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Two postings in one week! Woohoo! I'm not usually that fast, but I kinda wrote these together, and my awesome beta got it back to me quickly! Hope you all enjoy it. :)  
I don't own Doctor Who or Pride and Prejudice; all recognizable quotes come from one or the other._

* * *

When Rose entered the drawing room that evening to find the others engaged in various activities, she once again snuggled up near the fire with the precious volume she'd found the previous night. However, she found quiet amusement in observing Mr. Smith, who was attempting to write a letter while a watchful Reinette provided a running commentary of his efforts.

"You are such an attentive brother. Miss Smith must be so happy to receive your letters," Reinette cooed, to which John made no reply.

"You write so quickly," she persisted, seeming undaunted by his silence.

"Actually, no, I am rather slow about it," John replied politely, though it seemed a bit forced.

"Please tell her how eager I am to see her again."

"I believe you've already had me mention it."

A pause. "How do you manage to write so neatly?" Reinette asked, tilting her head.

Again Mr. Smith remained silent, and Rose wondered at her persistence when it so obviously annoyed him.

"Do you always write her such long, charming letters?" she continued. _Perhaps she just likes to hear herself talk_, Rose mused, with only a touch of guilt at the rather uncharitable thought.

"They do tend to be long, though I could hardly judge whether she finds them entertaining."

"Surely they are, when you can write so much so easily," she declared. "My brother's writing, on the other hand, is quite awful. He leaves off in the middle of a thought, and often writes so messily that it is almost incoherent."

"That's only because my thoughts are so fast I can't catch them all," Jack explained with a bright grin. "I suppose they might end up sounding a bit like nonsense. I'm rather useless at expressing myself in writing. I do much better in person." Here he aimed an exaggerated wink at Rose.

Rose laughed outright before replying. "I'm sure you do. And you admit your faults so humbly and readily that I cannot criticize you for them."

"Ha!" John scoffed. "The pretense of humility can easily hide the fact that you really just don't care what others think, or that you are secretly proud of something, even though you pretend not to be."

"Oh ho, now, _friend_!" Jack chortled. "And of which deceit do you accuse me?"

"The latter," John said, smiling fondly even as he chastised his friend. "Because you are secretly proud of your shoddy letters, believing they are the result of a quick mind and a distaste for the task. You think it makes you interesting, if not admirable. Though really, placing such value upon the speed with which you do something over the end result, sacrificing quality for swiftness, is quite ridiculous if you ask me. Can you imagine the result if such a mindset was generally accepted? I shudder to think of it," he concluded with fervor. Though the others seemed only slightly surprised by his outburst, Rose found herself quite baffled. It was the most she had ever heard from him at once, and for a moment he had lost nearly all of his haughty reserve, caught up as he was in his own thoughts. And then, to her shock, he _continued_.

"For example, just this morning you proudly proclaimed to Mrs. Tyler of the speed with which you would quit Torchwood once you decided to. But what is admirable about such needless haste and thoughtlessness?"

"Now, that's quite unfair, that was so long ago!" Jack exclaimed, mock horror crossing his face at the thought of such accountability. "Regardless, I believe I spoke the truth."

"I don't doubt your honesty, Jack," his friend avowed, "only your commitment. If, at that pivotal moment, a friend had asked you to stay another week, you probably would have agreed on the spot without hesitation."

"Why, that only serves to show the goodness of his character more truly than he did himself," Rose interjected, unable to hold her tongue any longer.

"You are sweet to turn my friend's words into a compliment," Jack said, "but I'm sure that was not his intent. He finds me fickle, and would respect me more if I remained firm and unyielding."

"We are speaking only of hypotheticals, so it is hard to make any firm declarations," John replied. "However, in the proposed situation, the friend merely expressed a wish for him to stay without giving any reason. To be so easily swayed is surely not a desirable trait."

"I believe one might easily yield, merely out of affection and regard for a friend, without demanding a reason in the moment," Rose declared firmly, holding Mr. Smith's intense gaze.

"Perhaps. It is hard to say without more particulars."

"Oh yes. Let us have all the details, _please_. Height and hair color can make a big difference. I believe, Miss Tyler, that I wouldn't respect Mr. Smith nearly so much if he wasn't so very _tall_," Jack replied jokingly. "He can be quite intimidating when he wants to be, especially when he gets restless or bored."

A tight smile crossed John's face in response, and Rose, thinking he looked a bit hurt, refrained from laughing. Talk soon turned to other subjects, easing some of the tension that had been building in the room.

Soon Mr. Smith asked if Reinette or Rose might play for them. Reinette swiftly settled herself at the piano, her sister joining her to sing after Rose politely declined. As Rose listened, glancing casually at the music books on the piano, she would occasionally look up to find Mr. Smith's keen gaze fixed upon her, and would almost swear that she had _felt_ it. It had become almost familiar, and that in itself struck her as odd. Rose could hardly fathom his intent in studying her so. The possibility of such an important man admiring her seemed a bit far-fetched; and really, he'd made it quite clear from the start that he didn't, hadn't he? Though to closely observe someone you disliked made no sense either. Therefore, she decided that something about her must offend him so deeply that he couldn't look away, like the twisted pull one sometimes feels at the scene of an accident. Rose shrugged slightly, once again dismissing the man from her mind. It mattered little to her what he thought, after all.

However, minutes later he startled her, appearing silently at her side. "Are you not suddenly seized by the desire to dance, Miss Tyler?" he questioned lightly as a lilting Scotch melody filled the room.

Rose smiled but did not reply. He quirked an eyebrow in surprise and repeated his question.

"I heard you before, Mr. Smith, but didn't know what to say. I'm sure you expected me to say yes, and then you would enjoy ridiculing my choice. But instead, you see, I am determined to foil your plan and dash all your expectations. So I say that I do not wish to dance at all," she stated, eyes flashing with a fire that drew him in rather than chased him away. "Now mock me if you dare."

"Indeed I do not dare," he replied softly. Rose, surprised at his gallant answer, looked up into warm brown eyes and felt the room shift just slightly.

John sensed her surprise; obviously she had expected him to be offended by her reply. Yet his response was far from it. He regarded her with curiosity, this petite woman who awoke such powerful, and at times unwelcome, feelings in him. She was both sweet and bold, graceful yet untamed, radiating a joy that cast its light wherever she went, and she captivated him. Had it not been for her poor connections and the daunting impossibility of such a match, John knew that he might have truly been in danger of falling for Rose Tyler.

* * *

Reinette Harkness knew what she wanted and had set her sights on John Smith long ago. No simple country girl would be permitted to interfere. She had seen enough of their interactions, and particularly of John's attentiveness, to become quite jealous of Rose. He had never in all the years she had known him shown such a preference before, not even for her, and she had _tried_. Her hopes for Donna's quick recovery were now magnified.

Hoping to make him see sense, Reinette teased him mercilessly, conveying her best wishes for their marital bliss and suggestions for how best to manage his peculiar "in-laws." John refused to be baited, however, making cool, often witty replies and remaining annoyingly undeterred in his odd admiration of this impertinent, unrefined girl.

* * *

Rose practically beamed with joy. The illness had finally run its course, and Donna's color and energy seemed to return with each passing hour. Soon they could go home.

Donna joined them for dinner the following evening, though she did not eat much. Afterwards the ladies enjoyed a lively, pleasant conversation amongst themselves. Rose had never seen Reinette and Cassandra so amiable; they doted lovingly on Donna, told stories and jokes, and were in general rather charming.

However, as soon as the men arrived, such niceties were forgotten. The gentlemen kindly asked about Donna's health, though Jack by far was the most engaging. He busied himself with stoking the fire, and then escorted Donna to a chair much closer to it so that she would stay warm. He then happily stationed himself at her side for the rest of the evening, plying her with stories and trying to make her laugh. Rose, when not lost in her book, observed all this with quiet delight.

As the others did not feel like playing a game, Cassandra amused herself with admiring her jewelry as her husband lazed about on the sofa. John and Reinette were both reading, though Reinette was more focused on John than her book, reading over his shoulder and asking him questions. When her efforts to divert his attention failed, she yawned prettily, which Rose considered to be an accomplishment in itself.

"Oh, what a _lovely_ way to pass the evening. One can never grow tired of reading," she proclaimed to the quiet room. With another dainty yawn she tossed her book aside, looking about for other amusement. Turning to her brother, who had been discussing the upcoming ball with Donna, she said, "Jack, do you _really_ mean to have a ball at Torchwood? I know some of us would much rather you didn't."

Jack laughed. "Certainly I do. And good ol' John can just retire early if he likes. Since he _doesn't dance_," he added, not noticing the slight discomfort his words caused amongst two of the room's occupants.

"I would like balls much better if they were more sensible affairs," Reinette declared. "More conversation and less dancing."

Jack shot her a funny look, wondering what she was up to, as he hardly believed that to be her opinion. "Why then it could hardly be called a ball, could it, sister?"

Reinette didn't answer, instead standing to walk across the room. She made a fine picture, graceful in her elegant golden gown, but the object of her endeavor remained frustratingly oblivious, seemingly engrossed in his book. In a desperate move she invited Rose to join her in her wanderings, to which Rose agreed willingly, though with some surprise.

John glanced up in astonishment, momentarily forgetting his book. Reinette congratulated herself with her success, albeit with a bit of disappointment amidst her triumph, and invited him to join them in their exercise.

"Thank you, no," he replied. "I can only imagine two reasons for your walking together, and in either instance I would only be in the way."

"What a strange answer!" Reinette said coyly, smiling at her companion. "Whatever does he mean?"

Rose considered him a moment before answering. "I'm sure he means to judge us severely. Maybe it's better not to ask," Rose quipped.

"No, I must know. Do tell us," Reinette implored, her curiosity piqued.

"I don't mind sharing, if you really _must_ know," he said, a hint of amusement creeping into his somber tone. "You either have secrets to discuss which I should not hear, or you realize that such activity highlights your lovely figures, which I can admire more happily from where I sit." His eyes sparkled merrily, a small smile transforming his face. Rose felt her cheeks heat against her will. What was wrong with her, that the slightest hint of flirtation from this man affected her this way?

"How shocking!" Reinette giggled, quite pleased with his response. "How should we punish him for speaking so?"

"Easily. Laugh at him, tease him," Rose replied, catching her tongue between her teeth as she smiled, noticing as she did that his eyes never left her face.

"Never! He is too good for such treatment. We must admit defeat."

"That _is_ too bad," Rose said, pouting slightly, "for I love to laugh. What is a world without laughter? I find that even the best people have their faults, their moments of silliness or flights of whimsy that allow them to laugh at themselves, and us with them. But perhaps Mr. Smith is the exception."

"I doubt that anyone is completely without fault. I do try to avoid those weaknesses that open me up to ridicule, however," he admitted.

"Like vanity, and pride?"

"Vanity, yes. Pride, however, is quite natural, and is always kept in check when paired with an appropriately superior mind," he declared.

Rose bit her lip, trying to hold back a smile. "Mr. Smith is indeed without fault. He admits it himself."

"Well, I am rather brilliant," he replied with a wry smile, "but I have faults enough. My temper, while generally even, can be quite resentful and unforgiving. No second chances; I'm that sort of man. My good opinion once lost is lost forever."

"That is quite bad," Rose replied, a bit taken aback by his solemnity. "Well done, though, for I cannot laugh at it."

"I believe every disposition tends toward some failing, which even knowledge and effort can't completely conquer," John added, eyes locked with hers as though there was no one else in the room.

"Yours is a tendency to think badly of everyone," Rose declared boldly. How this man managed to get under her skin so easily, she didn't quite comprehend.

"And yours," John replied with a knowing smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them."

"I feel in the mood for some music," Reinette suddenly declared, heading quickly to the piano.

* * *

With Donna nearly recovered, Rose was eager to return home, and wrote asking her mother to send the carriage. Of course Jackie refused, claiming that it could not be spared for several days, as she was still hoping to prolong their stay.

Donna sensed her sister's frustration and appealed to Mr. Harkness and his sister for help. His concern for her health, however, outweighed his desire to please her, so they arrived at a compromise. He would make arrangements for them to leave tomorrow.

Reinette soon regretted urging Donna to wait, for while she cared for one sister, her jealousy and dislike made her eager to be rid of the other.

John found that he welcomed the news of their departure. He was troubled by his undeniable attraction to Rose. She had stayed long enough. Her removal would make life easier all around. He disliked Reinette's unkindness to her and relentless teasing of himself. With her departure and some much-needed separation, he hoped that her strange pull on him would diminish. Knowing he had probably revealed more of his feelings than he should, he kept his distance on that last day, hardly speaking to or even looking at her. He could not encourage any hopes on her part. What shocked him was how difficult he found it to ignore her.

* * *

Rose could not stop smiling. While Jackie was perturbed by their return, their company had been missed by all, especially their father. They were soon treated to Joan's latest theories on human nature and a detailed account of all the officers' activities from Lynda and Lucy. Rose welcomed their nonsense with affection, breathing a sigh of relief and gratitude. It had been a very strange and interesting few days, and she was glad to be home.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Thanks to all of you who are reading/following this story. I really hope you continue to enjoy it - please let me know what you think! The feedback really does help me, especially with a work this well-loved. :)_

* * *

The morning after Rose and Donna's return from Torchwood, Pete Tyler surprised his family by announcing that a guest would be joining them for dinner that evening.

Jackie's mind immediately flew to the most promising possibility. "Mr. Harkness! Oh, Donna, you really should've told me!" she exclaimed, her voice shrill with delight and nerves. "Oh! I must go see what can be done about dinner..."

Pete laid a hand on her arm, halting her rapid exit from the room. "I'm sorry, dear, but it is not Mr. Harkness. Our guest is a man I have never met before." Six sets of eyes focused on him. He grinned, allowing several moments to pass - in which his wife and youngest daughters practically danced with curiosity - before saying more. "About a month ago I received a letter and, realizing the importance and care with which such a matter should be handled, sent a prompt reply about two weeks ago. The letter is from none other than Mr. Collins."

"Not him! Oooh! He probably just wants to gloat over how he'll turn us all out once you're gone. Booted from our own house, where our girls have lived since their first breath! Unjust, that's what it is! I'm sure _I _would have done somethin' to fight this entail thing!" she declared, eyeing her husband accusingly.

Her eldest daughters had attempted many times to explain the nature of the entail to her - that the estate could only be passed on to the next male heir or relation and that Mr. Tyler had absolutely no say in the matter - but Jackie in her righteous indignation hardly heard them. Indeed they all felt the unfairness of the law, which would eventually uproot the girls in favor of a distant relation, a _stranger_, through no fault of his own.

"Indeed, it is a tragedy," Pete teased, though Rose, in catching his eye, knew he did not take it as lightly as he pretended to. Glancing at the letter in his hands, he cleared his throat. "However, my dear, he appears to be quite willing to make amends. He '_regrets the distance that has long separated our families_...' Well, he can blame his hardheaded father for that... He is a clergyman and has just received a position '_courtesy of the honorable Lady Yvonne Hartman, whose generosity and benevolence I seek to repay by readying myself to perform all the required rites and ceremonies_...' for which, I'm sure, his parishioners are quite grateful."

Rose and Donna exchanged silent laughter. Pete glanced at them before he continued solemnly. "He hates to be the source of such distress to our daughters and hopes to arrive at some happy reconciliation. He will arrive at about four o'clock and stay until Saturday, with the '_most gracious permission of his esteemed patroness_.' "

Rose raised an eyebrow, peering up at her father to see what he thought of this puzzling man. "He seems a bit, I dunno... _odd_, doesn't he? Do you think he's quite sensible?"

"No, in fact I rather doubt it, sweetheart. I'm not quite sure what to make of him, to be honest; he is a contradiction, obsequious yet pompous at the same time. I'm sure he will prove quite an amusing study for you," Pete replied with some humor.

"He has good intentions, though," Donna put in, feeling an urge to defend the poor man. "That counts for something, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does, dear," Jackie declared. "And since he seems so eager to be pleasant, we _will_ welcome him with respect and consideration." She glared significantly at Rose and Pete before bustling from the room to make preparations for his arrival. Her family, slightly shocked by her change of heart, also soon dispersed, knowing it was best not to cross Jackie Tyler.

* * *

Mr. Mickey Collins arrived exactly at four o'clock, and while he was quite good-looking, his nervousness and bumbling, affected manners quickly overshadowed all else.

"I have heard much about the beauty of the Tyler women, but they exceed even the highest praise," Mr. Collins began rather awkwardly once they were all seated in the parlor. "I'm sure that very soon you will see them all happily married." While Donna managed to maintain her composure, Rose's eyebrow quirked of its own volition, Lynda and Lucy exchanged looks of amazement and horror, and even Joan appeared a bit shocked at his statement.

However Jackie, who was not perturbed in the least, agreed wholeheartedly. "That is my dearest wish, and truly their only hope for a comfortable life, things being what they are."

"By which you mean the entail, I suppose?" Mickey guessed, fidgeting slightly in his seat.

"It _is_ very hard, you know. Not that I'm blaming you," she assured him with a sad smile.

Mickey swallowed before plastering a grin on his face. "I am only too aware of the... _situation_ my cousins face and am sorry to be its cause. I, er... I do not want to seem too forward..." Mickey stammered, "but I am quite willing to admire my lovely cousins, and perhaps, in time..."

Luckily, here he was interrupted by the call to dinner, the room breathing a collective sigh of relief as he followed a chattering Jackie out of the room. He found something to praise at every turn, which would have brought Jackie more pleasure if he didn't stand to inherit it all one day. She ignored the niggling feeling, wanting very much to keep this affable young man on their side. Despite her best intentions, however, she nearly flew at him when he asked which of her talented daughters had made their delicious dinner.

"We are not _that_ bad off, Mr. Collins," she replied tersely. "We have a cook, and a ladies' maid as well."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Please, forgive me," Mickey sputtered. Jackie did and quickly, hearing the genuine apology in his tone. Yet he seemed unable to forgive himself, as he continued to apologize for the next fifteen minutes.

During dinner their father engaged Mickey in a discussion of "his most gracious patroness," much to the girls' dismay. Mickey delivered his description of her elegant home and overbearing presence with a deference and gratitude that made Rose curious. She wondered if, beneath all the bluster and humble posturing, he might be an almost likable man, if somewhat foolish. In a quiet moment, after the others had headed to bed, she questioned her father about it.

Pete looked rather surprised by her question, and paused to consider a moment before answering. "His father was not a caring or responsible man, and I doubt he was very involved in raising his son. His grandmother, however, was a very good woman. I believe she died several years ago, and his mother died when he was very young." He sighed, nodding slightly at his daughter and smiling. "It is just like you to see beneath the surface. He is more than a bit foolish, but perhaps I should go a little easier on him, considering. I promise to try at least."

Rose grinned in reply. She loved the closeness she shared with her father. They could almost always find the humor in things, giving them a secret joy and courage in the most trying circumstances, and others could not help but feel it. While she couldn't help being amused by his folly, her heart resolved to discover if perhaps there was more to Mr. Collins than met the eye.

Unfortunately, the events of the next few days would serve to somewhat derail her compassion and resolve.

* * *

Mickey Collins' less-than-ideal childhood had taught him humility, but it had also created a yearning for more. He had loved his Nana dearly, storing up the love and respect he received during their visits to supplant the near absence of them in his daily life. Her loss had hurt terribly, both mentally and emotionally. Over time he had gradually internalized his father's views of his son's uselessness and stupidity, resulting in a man who now felt keenly the honor and attention granted by Lady Yvonne's position. When she advised that he should find a wife, his kind heart had immediately thought of the relations whom he had often worried about and wished to know.

While he found the eldest Miss Tyler all she was reputed to be, beautiful and very kind and probably the epitome of what his patroness hoped for him, he felt drawn to the liveliness he'd seen in Rose. As a result, he felt little disappointment when, at breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Tyler gently informed him that Donna was "as good as spoken for," which she truly believed was the truth.

"Miss Rose is quite pretty herself, and has a lot of spirit," Mickey responded.

"Indeed," Jackie said, pleased that he seemed undeterred in his kind intentions to her family. She eyed him speculatively a moment, though, unsure if he would be match enough for her Rose, but her happiness at the thought of _two_ married daughters soon crowded out any other concerns.

* * *

Later that morning Lucy declared a desire to walk into town and visit their aunt, an exercise which they undertook with increasing regularity since the arrival of so many attentive and available young officers. All but Joan agreed to accompany her. Joan had lately found an especially interesting book on botany and welcomed a quiet house in which to read it.

With similar thoughts, Pete Tyler encouraged Mickey to walk with them and see the town. He had been trying, really he had, but the silly boy followed him about, seeming determined to disrupt his peace with meaningless chatter. He had even invaded his study, the one masculine room in his home where he could retreat to read and ponder in quiet. While Rose or Joan might occasionally enter to find a book, there was an unspoken agreement to do so in silence.

To his relief Mickey agreed readily, much preferring a walk to study anyway. Lucy and Lynda traipsed on ahead, leaving Rose and Donna to entertain Mr. Collins. Try as Rose might to engage him with talk of music or his job or even the weather, he seemed caught in a loop, and all of it circled back to _Lady Yvonne's _musical preferences, boundless generosity, or magnificent grounds. Catching on to her endeavor, Donna subtly tried to help Rose reach past all the pomp and flattery. Remembering what she'd learned about his family life, Rose gently broached the subject. "My father says your grandmother was an amazing woman," she said, carefully watching his reaction to make sure she hadn't pushed too far.

Mickey's face softened, a real smile lighting it that made the years melt away. "_Nana_." He spoke her name with quiet reverence. "Yeah. She was the best."

Tears stung the back of her eyes, and she glanced at Donna to see that she was touched as well. Before either of them could react, however, his demeanor quickly changed again, the practiced persona springing back into place as he told them about Lady Yvonne's latest novel idea of adding shelves to his closets.

As they reached the outskirts of town, the younger girls immediately grew more attentive. They soon spotted their favorite, Adam Mitchell, who was conversing with a handsome, well-dressed stranger. Pretending to be interested in a shop window nearby, the girls quickly crossed the street with their sisters in tow. Bowing to the ladies, Adam greeted them with a smile. "Please allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Saxon. He has just returned with me from town and has accepted a position in our regiment." While they had first noticed his appearance, Harold Saxon soon charmed them all with his friendliness, humor, and easy yet impeccable manners.

As they were thus happily talking, two gentlemen approached on horseback. Mr. Harkness and Mr. Smith, upon recognizing the Tyler girls, slowly drew near to the party. "You seem much better, Miss Tyler," Jack called down from his seat while flashing Donna a wide grin, relief and joy evident in his voice.

Taking a moment to draw courage, Donna met his kind gaze. "I feel much better, Mr. Harkness, thank you," she replied with a shy smile. Rose smiled up at him as well, noticing as she did that Mr. Smith seemed to be almost studiously avoiding her gaze. Moments later she startled as he suddenly went unnaturally still, the color draining from his face. Alarmed by the storm she witnessed brewing in his dark eyes, she quickly searched to find the cause of his odd behavior, stopping short when she came to Mr. Saxon. For a brief moment the newcomer looked flushed and almost afraid before he quickly composed his features. Rose watched in fascination as Mr. Saxon nodded slightly, which earned him a curt nod in response. Soon afterwards Mr. Harkness and his friend said their goodbyes, though Rose didn't miss the way Mr. Smith's eyes flashed to hers with... _was that concern_? ... before they turned their horses down the lane.

The girls and Mr. Collins made their way to their aunt's, Rose's curiosity prickling beneath her skin. What had that been about? The more she knew of Mr. Smith, the more his behavior puzzled and, to be honest, frustrated her. Deciding that this was hardly the time or place for such musings, she turned her thoughts to the more pleasant conversation around her concerning the fascinating Mr. Saxon.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: This chapter was difficult, mostly because of Harold Saxon (aka Wickham). Oh, this character and the tangled web he weaves! I _hope _it worked out alright; as always, your thoughts are very welcome. Beta'd by lastincurableromantic._

* * *

Despite her best efforts, thoughts of the strange encounter she'd witnessed kept edging to the front of Rose's mind. Mr. Smith perplexed her. He was quite obviously handsome and brilliant and seemed to know it, too. Yet he had also proved himself from the start to be condescending and proud. He had even claimed the last, albeit indirectly. His superior attitude grated on her nerves, yet occasionally she almost thought she saw something else in his eyes when he looked at her... but that was ridiculous. And now his exchange with Mr. Saxon threw his character even further into shadow.

Upon arriving at their aunt's, Mr. Collins proceeded to compliment her fine home, which pleased Mrs. Philips greatly. Soon the conversation predictably turned to the militia's latest recruit. Mrs. Philips mentioned that she and her husband had invited several of the officers to dinner tomorrow night, and soon found herself compelled to extend the invitation to her nieces and their very grateful cousin as well.

* * *

Bubbling over with delight and curiosity, the sisters once again made their way to their aunt's home the next evening. The weather was pleasantly warm, and the creatures about them seemed to mirror their lively energy. The officers had not yet arrived, forcing the girls to pretend for awhile to be interested in Mr. Collins' rather tiresome observations.

Fortunately the men appeared within minutes. Mr. Saxon easily captured the attention of the ladies as he entered, his confidence and noble bearing - now smartly paired with a dashing uniform - outshining the officers who had so recently been the favorites of the town.

Rose smiled as he took the seat beside her and soon found herself quite entertained. He was very courteous yet engaging, and they easily fell into pleasant conversation.

Across the room, Mr. Collins found a ready listener in Aunt Philips, who thought he was a very nice young man indeed. She engaged him as her partner in a game of cards, though she soon regretted her choice when he proved his ineptitude at the game. Mr. Saxon joined the other table, placing himself between Lucy and Rose. As Lucy was quite engrossed in the game of chance before her, Rose once again found herself the sole focus of his attentions. She appreciated the chance to get to know him better and hoped somehow she'd be able to glean a little insight into his relation to Mr. Smith. Quite surprisingly he addressed the topic almost straightaway.

"I've heard the Torchwood estate is one of the finest in these parts," he declared with a smile before hesitating slightly. "Has Mr. Smith been there long?"

Sure she must've started a bit in surprise, Rose answered quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed. " 'Bout a month, I think," she replied. "They say he has a rather large estate in Darbyshire."

"I can vouch for it, as I have lived in the very same neighborhood since my youth. Our families were quite close for many years, actually." Seeing Rose's wide-eyed disbelief, he continued with a smirk. "I can understand your surprise, as I believe you witnessed the coolness of our meeting yesterday. Do you know him well?"

"Well enough, I think," Rose answered, already feeling a surge of sympathy for this candid young man. "He's a bit hard to make out. Not exactly friendly, well, rather the opposite, I'd say."

"I've known him too long to give an objective opinion. I think many would be surprised by yours, though perhaps you only speak so because you're amongst family."

"I should hope not. My opinion doesn't change with the company I keep," she retorted with feeling. Drawing a calming breath, she went on. "I don't think you'll find many here as think differently. He is known to be proud and arrogant and generally unfriendly."

"I fear most of his acquaintance judge him as men too often are, by their status, wealth, or the force of their presence, _all_ of which Mr. Smith possesses," Mr. Saxon lamented. "I am curious whether he means to remain here for long."

"I'm not sure. I haven't heard any talk of him leaving," Rose replied. "I hope his presence here won't chase you away."

"Certainly not!" he declared with a laugh. "Don't you worry. He won't frighten me away. While I don't particularly enjoy running into him this way, I have no reason to hide. If he wishes to avoid me, he will have to leave." He paused and leaned in as if to share a secret, and Rose mimicked his action, intrigued.

"My father and his were great friends, and my father gave up his career to help care for Gallifrey, their family estate. Mr. Smith's father was one of the best men I've known. He promised my father that he would do all he could to provide for me; he cared for me like one of his own. John - Mr. Smith, I mean - he and I grew up together; we were even friends in our youth. Oh, the trouble we got ourselves into. Regular troublemakers, we were!" he exclaimed, grinning widely. Rose returned his smile, finding it hard to imagine John Smith young, much less wild or reckless.

"We grew apart eventually, as friends do, but at some point his disinterest became dislike. I don't know why, though I've always supposed he was jealous of having to share his father's love." He paused a moment, fingers drumming restlessly against his knee as he held her gaze, his blue eyes wistful. "I was meant for the church, you see, and it had been arranged that I would take the living in his parish. When the position became open, however, Mr. Smith refused to honor his late father's wishes."

Rose, who had listened in rapt silence for some time, could do so no longer. "What? I mean, arrogant and condescending, yeah, but so completely devoid of feeling as to ignore his father's wishes? To treat a fellow man, once his friend, so abominably? I can't understand it!"

Sighing, he shook his head. "It wasn't ever formal, you know, more of a covenant. He chose to doubt it, claiming I had lost my right to it because of my foolish, wild ways. I am open and honest by nature; perhaps I spoke too freely with or about him. No real reason was ever given. We are so different now; he hates me, and so he punishes me, forcing me to find another way through life than what I would have chosen."

_No second chances..._ Rose's heart welled with compassion for the man before her and anger towards the one who had hurt him. "How horrible! What about his pride? I'd think that would stop him from acting unfairly."

"He is a proud man, to be sure. Obviously some stronger feeling or reason was guiding him," Mr. Saxon concluded. "It's a shame, too. His pride has often led him to do rather kind and generous things, helping the poor and building up the community. He has a great deal of family pride, which he still holds for his sister, making him a most caring and protective brother and guardian."

Even with her emotions admittedly in turmoil, Rose's curiosity perked up at that. "What is she like?"

His face took on a look of sadness. "I suppose some would call her a most charming and lovely girl, but I'm afraid she has too much of her brother's pride to truly be so. When we were younger I would often entertain her; she was very sweet and affectionate and adored me. But she is nothing to me now. Regardless, she is lovely and young, maybe your sister Lucy's age, and very accomplished."

So much of what he said fell in line with what Rose herself had witnessed and heard that she had little trouble accepting it as truth. Yet one thought still perplexed her. "How can such a man have Mr. Harkness for his closest friend? They are like day and night. Mr. Harkness is charming and funny and joyful. I think he must not really _know_ his friend."

He shrugged. "I can't say, as I've never met his friend, but I assure you Mr. Smith is quite capable of being witty and sincere, perhaps even pleasant, amongst those he considers _worthy_," he declared, taking on an imperious tone at the end. Rose didn't quite manage to contain her laughter, a slight chuckle escaping from behind her hand that made him smile.

The games soon ended, concluding their little tete-a-tete as conversation swelled around them. Mr. Collins had apparently lost a fair sum of money at cards, for which their aunt felt quite sorry.

"Truly, don't worry on my account, madam," Mickey assured her. "There's always a chance of losing at such games, and it's not much to me, though I'm sure it would be to some. Thankfully the position granted me by the honorable Lady Yvonne Hartman relieves me from such worries."

Mr. Saxon's head snapped up at this, and he casually made his way to Rose's side again, inquiring as to how well her cousin knew the Hartman family.

"He has only recently taken the position," Rose said, "and I don't believe they knew each other well beforehand."

Leaning in conspiratorially he whispered, "You know, of course, that Lady Yvonne Hartman and Lady Anne Smith were sisters, meaning his 'esteemed patroness' is in fact Mr. Smith's aunt. And it is generally understood that he and her daughter will eventually marry, uniting two very great houses."

Apparently she was not alone in her ignorance of such things; her lips formed a wry, almost pitying smile as she remembered Reinette Harkness' rather obvious plays for his attention. "My cousin speaks almost reverently of Lady Hartman, though I think perhaps his gratitude clouds his perception somewhat. I'm quite sure her ladyship is, in reality, more conceited and condescending than benevolent."

"Everyone in town calls her very wise and discerning. In my memory, however, she was a fearful tyrant, demanding and hard-hearted. Her position and wealth, of course, add much to her reputation, not unlike her nephew."

The rest of the evening passed quite pleasantly for all. Mr. Saxon's gentlemanly manners and clever stories made him much admired, and Rose was no exception. She had greatly enjoyed his company, and he had given her much to mull over. Upon leaving, however, any such musing became nearly impossible, as Lucy chattered on about her luck at the game and Mickey declared, in terms both general and minute, his satisfaction with the evening's events.

* * *

Walking in the garden the next morning, the sun beginning to gently chase away the night's chill as the bees hummed lazily around them, Rose shared with Donna the revelations of the previous night. Donna's mouth fell open rather comically as she learned of Mr. Smith's refusal to grant the position to Mr. Saxon. She always sought the good in people, as did Rose on her cheerful days (which most were), but Donna was much less willing to accept the bad.

"Surely it's all just a misunderstanding," she declared. "Perhaps others involved in the affair hid the truth, and they were both misled. They are too good for such foul dealings. Honestly, it is impossible for us to judge, knowing so little of the what and how and why of the situation."

Rose smiled a little at Donna's optimism. "I know how it pains you to think badly of anyone. You'd find some way to excuse these 'others' for their deception as well, dear sister."

"You can laugh at me if you want. How, though, Rose? No marginally _decent _man could deny a promise made by his own father to one so dearly loved! And that his closest friends would be blind to such malice?!"

"I think _that_ more likely than that Mr. Saxon made up such a story, sharing names and facts without a second thought, and with such openness and hurt in his expression," Rose confessed.

Donna shook her head. "It's a very hard thing, Rose. Really, one doesn't know what to think!"

"Sorry, but one knows _exactly_ what to think," Rose declared, her eyes flashing.

The girls were kept from any further discussion by the arrival of Mr. Harkness and his sisters. They came to personally invite the girls to the ball at Torchwood. Of course the family already knew of it, since Lucy had named the date; they had heard of little but balls and officers for the past several weeks. Reinette and Cassandra fussed and fawned over Donna, saying how much they'd missed her and wondering what she'd been up to since she left. They shied away from Jackie, hardly spoke to Rose, and ignored the rest of the family entirely. After several minutes they again saw Mrs. Tyler approaching, probably with an invitation to stay for tea, and hastily made their exit. Rose noted with satisfaction the thinly veiled annoyance on Jack's face, as he obviously would have liked to remain longer.

All of the ladies were looking forward to the ball, though their expectations were rather varied. Jackie spent the rest of that day crowing over the honor they'd received, the hosts "coming in person especially to invite them, though a card would have done just fine." And she knew why, too. She grinned happily as she thought of the happiness that she was sure was in store for her Donna.

Donna herself, however, did not come close to such grand presumptions. She eagerly awaited the chance to again spend a lovely evening with her new friends, though her heart did beat faster at the thought of dancing with Ja- _Mr. Harkness_ again.

Rose could not deny that the prospect of dancing with the charming Mr. Saxon pleased her exceedingly. She had no doubt that he would excel at it, and their conversation would certainly never be dull. Another small yet vocal part of her vowed to carefully watch Mr. Smith, whom she fully expected to display some proof of his guilt in his looks or actions.

Lynda and Lucy, though also smitten with Mr. Saxon, yet did not require the company of any one particular man to be positively giddy. The ball itself was enough. And even Joan, bless her, seemed agreeable to the notion, admitting that "such social, recreational events are necessary and beneficial to all, and I shall still have the morning all to myself."

Rose, while usually cheerful, felt almost aglow with joy and anticipation. Her sunny outlook led her one day to ask Mr. Collins whether, as a clergyman, he deemed a ball to be a respectable amusement and if he planned to attend.

"I believe a ball, especially one thrown by such a gentleman as Mr. Harkness, is a very fine thing. Both my patroness and I find little fault with dancing, and I hope all of my lovely cousins will honor me with a dance," he replied, shuffling his feet nervously. Rose gave him a surprised smile at this endorsement, from which he seemed to take courage. "I hope you will give me _your_ hand for the first two, Miss Rose."

Rose's brown eyes widened. What had she done? Her impulsive kindness and sympathy had trapped her. She had earnestly hoped Mr. Saxon would claim those very dances. Mustering up what composure she had left, she accepted his offer as graciously as she could. She would just have to be patient, that's all; her happiness would merely be delayed.

However, a terrifying idea began to form in her head soon afterwards, gaining weight until it felt like it would crush her. She noticed with apprehension Mr. Collins' increasing kindness towards her, the way he hardly left her side, and the attempts he often made to compliment her vivacity or cleverness. She had been _chosen_ as the means to 'make amends' between their families. Her suspicions were confirmed when Jackie casually mentioned how happy their union would make her, to which Rose made no response. Her compassion for the man did not reach _that_ far, would never compel her to accept such a marriage. But she wisely remained silent rather than start a fight over what was only a possibility; one Rose fervently prayed would never occur.

It rained almost steadily for the four days that followed. Rose regretted the lost time she could have spent befriending Mr. Saxon, and the younger girls were desperate to see the officers again and to hear the latest gossip. Only the upcoming ball saved the members of the Tyler household from descending into the bickering and discord that normally accompanied being cooped up together for so long.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: The Netherfield... um, I mean, the Torchwood ball! This event is so pivotal; I agonized over it a bit, and I hope I did it justice. Please review! _

_I don't own Pride and Prejudice or Doctor Who; I just play here. Much love to my terrific beta, lastincurableromantic, for curbing my rambling sentences and reminding me that we live in the 21st century (and that a little explanation goes a long way). : )_

* * *

Rose's heart nearly beat out of her chest with excitement. The night of the ball had finally arrived, and the Torchwood estate was a delightful harmony of candlelight and elegant dresses and soft music. She had chosen her prettiest dress, a fine ivory muslin with delicate blue embroidery, and her blonde hair was curled and swept up softly, dotted with tiny pearls.

Her eyes tripped across the room, searching for one face in particular. Rose hoped to spend most of the evening in the company of Mr. Saxon, positive that he had felt the attraction and camaraderie between them. While she did not see him at first glance, she was not too concerned; it was a large estate and she herself had only just arrived. Noticing the large number of officers already scattered throughout the room, however, a niggling thought began to trouble her. What if, for Mr. Smith's sake, Mr. Saxon had simply not been invited?

With his usual self-assurance and cocky smile, Mr. Adam Mitchell made his way towards the Tyler family. Lucy wasted no time in asking after Mr. Saxon, to which Adam replied that personal business had taken him into town. Under his breath he added, "Honestly, I think it wasn't really that urgent, but it gave him an excuse not to face a certain gentleman again."

While they were all disappointed by his absence, Rose felt fairly certain that none of the others had caught Adam's quiet implication. Her heart sank. Regardless of the reason, the effect was the same: the hopes she'd indulged for this evening had vanished. Her disappointment only sharpened her anger with Mr. Smith. Feeling a hand softly laid on her arm, she peered up into Donna's sympathetic gaze and felt her resentment abate just a little.

Rose could never remain angry or bitter for long; it went against her joyful nature. She shook off her foul mood, determined to enjoy the novelty of the evening. Spotting Martha nearby, she quickly made her way to her friend. They hadn't seen each other for several days, and soon Martha was peppering her with questions about both Mr. Saxon and Mr. Collins. Keeping it light, Rose quickly related what she'd learned from Mr. Saxon, ignoring the speculative look on Martha's face which clearly said _'I'll let it go for now, but I know there's more.' _Just as she had begun to share more about Mr. Collins' sudden appearance and peculiar personality, the man himself approached them. Rose could see his nervousness as he bowed stiffly, and taking pity on him, she smiled warmly and introduced him to her friend.

Moments later couples began moving into position for the first dance. Her compassion warred with her humiliation as it became clear that, despite his support of it, Mickey had had little practice in the actual art of dancing. Rose helped him on as best she could with quiet words and gestures, but it was still awkward and halting. Rose could feel her cheeks growing warm. She couldn't help the relief that flooded through her as their second dance drew to a close. He obviously felt it, too, and she kindly reassured him that he'd done fine as he stammered out an apology. She felt an almost sisterly affection for this odd, somewhat silly man. Part of her knew that she should be more reserved with him, that he was probably misconstruing her natural kindness and compassion as something more, but she just couldn't.

Luckily another officer asked her to dance, excusing her from her awkward predicament for the moment. He was a fair dancer, and Rose relaxed a bit, taking in the beauty of the grand room and the elegant flow of the dance around her. The officer had met the newcomer, Mr. Saxon, and declared he was a born leader and already well-liked by everyone. Rose smiled, not surprised in the least. At the end of the dance she returned to Martha's side with renewed spirits.

"I think it's almost impossible not to enjoy oneself at a ball," Rose declared with a grin, forgetting her earlier embarrassment.

Martha looked at her with amusement shining in her dark brown eyes. "I tend to agree, though there are those who manage it," she replied, nodding her head subtly towards Mr. Smith, who stood nearby, aloof and disinterested.

Rose, already quite sure whom Martha was referring to, cast a quick glance in that direction only to find a pair of intense brown eyes staring right back at her. Rose shivered. _ How did he do that? And why did he always seem to be observing her? _She looked back at Martha, who had been watching her closely, and laughed, trying to regain her composure. "I'm rather surprised he permits such 'frivolity,' though it _is_ his friend's house, I suppose. Don't be too hard on him, though, Martha. Some people just don't dan-"

Mr. Smith suddenly stood before them bowing gracefully, tall and gorgeous in his dark blue waistcoat and fitted black jacket and trousers. Realizing her mouth was still hanging open, Rose quickly snapped it shut.

"May I request the honor of your hand for the next dance, Miss Tyler?" he asked, the picture of poise and gentility. Still stunned, Rose could only manage a barely audible "yes." She swore she glimpsed a hint of humor in his eyes as he walked away. Her spirit rallied at that, and once her breath returned, she began upbraiding herself for her lack of composure.

"How could I say _yes_, Martha? I can't believe I agreed to dance with that man!" she fumed quietly, pacing a few steps before turning sharply back.

Martha grabbed her arm to stop her mid-stride. "Rose, calm down. It's just a _dance_. Relax and enjoy it," she chided, shaking her head. Rose's stubborn prejudice was distracting her from the honor Mr. Smith had shown her in singling her out as a partner. She loved Rose dearly, but any girl in the county would gladly trade places with her in that moment; she was crazy to risk insulting such an important and handsome man, and Martha told her so.

"And what would that say about me? If I allowed myself to enjoy the company of one I am determined to hate?" she replied with feeling.

The next minute, as Mr. Smith came to lead her away, Martha shot her a stern parting look. Rose rolled her eyes. She couldn't ignore the impression they made as they stood up together, however. It felt as though every pair of eyes in the room was on them, filled with surprise and admiration. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about that and so tried her best to ignore it.

They remained quiet for several minutes, performing the steps with ease and grace. Rose had resolved not to talk to him at all, when suddenly it occurred to her that she might punish him more by forcing him to speak.

"It's quite a treat, having an orchestra to dance to," Rose commented.

"I think so, too," he replied, falling silent again.

"I've never seen you dance before. Thought perhaps the universe might implode," Rose teased, the words slipping out before she could stop them. This man elicited such unexpected reactions from her. She watched him closely, curious to see how he'd respond.

"And yet, here we stand," Mr. Smith countered, the corners of his lips quirking up slightly.

Several minutes passed before Rose addressed him again. "I believe it is your turn to say something, Mr. Smith," she suggested.

"You usually talk while dancing, then?"

"Yeah, I guess so, though it needn't be much. Just enough to show _mild_ interest." She paused a moment, considering her next words. "We are a lot alike, you know. Only willing to speak if we have something clever or insightful to say that will impress all those around us."

Mr. Smith studied her a moment before replying. "I don't believe that's you at all, though I am quite convinced of your cleverness. I couldn't say how true it might be of myself. It's quite obvious _you_ think it is." Brown eyes met brown, locked in a silent battle, her face slightly flushed at his unexpected compliment.

Silence once again fell between them, but Mr. Smith chose to break it this time. "Do you and your sisters often walk into town?" he asked casually.

"Yes, quite often," Rose answered. Unable to resist the opening he'd provided, she added, "We had just made a new acquaintance when you came upon us the other day."

She could see, could almost _feel_ the change come over him as he drew himself up even straighter, closing himself off, suddenly cold and imposing. All except for his eyes, which blazed with anger and something else she couldn't name. Rose felt a strange urge to flee, but of course she didn't, instead wisely choosing not to push him any further.

"Mr. Saxon has a great deal of charm and wit, allowing him to make friends quite easily," Mr. Smith managed to grate out, his voice just hinting at the emotions swirling beneath the surface. "However, I find he is not always able to keep them."

"Like the way he lost your friendship, you mean, and will pay for it the rest of his life," Rose retorted, struggling to keep her own emotions in check.

His only answer was a sharp glance before his face went blank, the impenetrable mask sliding back into place. At that moment Mr. Jones approached them, his joviality at odds with the tension simmering between them.

"You two do make a lovely picture, just as I knew you would! I hope we will have the pleasure of seeing you dance again, especially with such a happy event on the horizon, eh, Miss Rose?" he beamed, casting a meaningful look at Donna and Jack, who were dancing gaily a short distance from them. Rose stared at him in shock, cringing inwardly at his lack of propriety. While that 'happy event' was Rose's dearest hope, it was far from settled, even between the couple in question; announcing it so casually just felt wrong, 'putting the horse before the carriage,' so to speak. "But don't look at me so, my dear! Mr. Smith, I do apologize. I won't keep you any longer from your captivating partner." And with a hasty bow he was gone.

John's attention, however, was still focused on the couple before them, concern evident in his solemn features. Feeling her eyes on him, he snapped himself back into the moment. "Pardon me. I seem to have forgotten what we were talking about."

"Nothing. I think we had run out of things to say," Rose declared, her earlier irritation returning, trying to move past the embarrassing encounter.

"What about books, then?" he asked, seeming intent on being pleasant.

_Well, he can try all he likes_. Rose would not allow him to draw her out. "I'm sure we don't share the same taste in books, and that our opinions on them would in no way be similar."

"Really?" He looked so disappointed by her response, and she almost relented. Fortunately he forged on. "Weelll, then we could have a lively discussion at the very least. After all, life wouldn't be very interesting if we all had exactly the same thoughts, now, would it?"

"No, I guess not..." Oh, how this man confounded her! Unpredictable and moody, and now, when she wanted most to be angry, he was being chatty and agreeable, almost friendly. She simply wouldn't have it, and decided to come right to the point. "Before, you said that you don't give second chances, that once someone lost your respect it could not be redeemed. I suppose you are most careful, then, in your judgment of others."

"I am," he said with conviction, holding her gaze.

"Not swayed by prejudice or petty feelings, but always holding to what is fair and just?"

"I sincerely hope so," he replied, looking at her intently, his brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"

"You are a puzzle to me," she admitted honestly, trying to dispel her somber mood, "and I am merely trying to illuminate your character."

"And how do you get on?"

"Not well at all," Rose said, laughing lightly as she shook her head. "I hear such different accounts of you as to leave me exactly where I started."

"I can easily imagine the variety of _opinions _you've heard, Miss Tyler," he answered, his voice low and entreating, "but I wish you would not attempt to sort my character at the present moment."

"If I don't do so now, I may never get another chance," was Rose's surprised reply.

"As you wish," he said, cold and remote once more. They finished their dance in silence.

* * *

Mr. Smith felt restless. He knew he had taken a great risk in asking Rose Tyler to dance. While he could not indulge the powerful feelings for her that had been building inside of him, her pull was undeniable. And now it had backfired dramatically. She seemed almost to hate him. _All the better_, a small voice in the back of his mind piped up._ The separation between her world and yours is too great. Impossible. You can't _have_ her._

Frustrated and angered by the turn their conversation had taken, he quickly exited the room, his hand tugging at his hair as his mind whirled. He thought of her lovely face, of the quick brown eyes that missed nothing, the pink that tinged her cheeks, betraying her feelings, and that delighted smile that had, regrettably, never yet been directed at him.

No, he could not be angry with her. He could not allow himself to harbor _any_ feelings for her, good or bad. Yet it still rankled within him, the disappointment he'd seen in her eyes, believing the lies that cad had fed her. The fury within him burned even stronger than before.

* * *

Frustrated and confused, Rose was making her way to the doors, hoping to get some fresh air and a little perspective, when she was intercepted by Miss Harkness.

"Donna tells me you've become quite friendly with Mr. Saxon," Reinette ventured, and while her tone was friendly, she could not hide the disdain in her pretty blue eyes. "I feel obligated to tell you that he is merely the son of the late Mr. Smith's steward, and that you should not place too much faith in his stories. Mr. Smith has only ever been kind to him, and has been treated most abominably in return! I don't know the details of it, but of course Mr. Smith is blameless. He hates even hearing the _name_ of Harold Saxon. My brother had to invite him, but we were all rather relieved that he couldn't make it. How very unlucky to meet him here at all! I'm sorry to share such ill tidings of your new friend, dear girl, although considering his position, perhaps it is not that surprising," she concluded with a smirk.

Rose had met her breaking point. "What surprises _me_," she retorted angrily, her hands fisted in her dress, "is the ease with which you condemn someone, simply based on his birth! His guilt and his descent, which he has shared with me himself, to you are the same! You have nothing else with which to accuse him."

A bit stunned, it took Reinette a moment to reply. "My apologies! I only meant to warn you. Please pardon me. I was trying to be kind," she replied haughtily before turning away.

Rose made her escape through one of the adjoining rooms and out onto the enclosed veranda. Reinette's accusation had only further convinced her of that woman's ignorance and prejudice and of Mr. Smith's guilt. She gratefully filled her lungs with the cool night air, feeling herself relax as she peered up into the darkening sky. When she felt her composure had returned, she sought out Donna. The joyful glow lighting her sister's face quickly chased away what was left of Rose's ire.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Saxon couldn't come, Rose. I know you like him and were looking forward to the chance to enjoy his company again," Donna said, clasping her sister's hand.

"I _do_ like him. He is so friendly and open, and determined to be happy despite all that he's endured. And while I am curious what you might have learned about him," Rose admitted with a smile, "perhaps you have been too happily engaged with Mr. Harkness to think of anything else."

Though still beaming, Donna sounded almost apologetic. "I did ask, Rose, but I don't have much to share. Mr. Harkness does not know Mr. Saxon or any of the details of their falling out. He does honestly believe Mr. Smith to be the best kind of man; I think he would defend him with his last breath," she said, a tender look crossing her face. Her eyes naturally sought him out where he stood in the far corner, deep in conversation with Mr. Smith. "Both he and his sister fear Mr. Saxon is much less respectable than he seems to be, and that any loss he's experienced has been of his own doing. I'm sorry." She squeezed Rose's hand in hers, her kind heart obviously hurting to be the bearer of such unwelcome news.

"But all he knows of it has come from Mr. Smith, right?" At Donna's nod, Rose continued. "Don't worry, Donna. I find no fault with your Mr. Harkness. He has a good heart and is a loyal friend. However, I hope you will forgive me for not being swayed by his opinion, as he was not directly involved and cannot be objective concerning his friend. I will have to hold to the same opinion I did before."

Rose then quickly changed the topic to a much happier one, encouraging the humble yet growing hopes Donna held for their devoted host. When Jack himself joined them, Rose shot him a friendly grin before slipping away into the crowd.

Mr. Collins noticed her crossing the room and met her with a triumphant smile. "Dear cousin, you'll never guess what I've discovered! A relative of Lady Yvonne Hartman, here in this very house! That noble gentleman there, Mr. John Smith, is her nephew. What a lucky coincidence! I must, of course, introduce myself and apologize for not greeting him earlier."

Rose stood still in shock for a moment before hastily assuring him that there was no need for such an introduction. Indeed, for him to take such a liberty, to speak to someone of Mr. Smith's consequence without being formally introduced, would be quite improper. But Mickey would not be dissuaded, claiming that while he greatly appreciated her opinion, he knew much better than she the "duties of a clergyman." Unable to look away, she watched as he addressed Mr. Smith, who indeed seemed quite surprised at the intrusion. Rose felt her cheeks grow warm at Mr. Collins' undoubtedly effusive praise of his aunt, unaware that he was embarrassing not only himself, but his relations as well. Mr. Smith's look quickly changed from one of detached wonder to annoyance, and he finally escaped her cousin with a curt bow.

Mickey returned to her side, quite satisfied with his one-sided conversation, praising Mr. Smith's civility and gracious manners. "He seemed glad to hear of his aunt's good health, though he did forget my name. Mr. _Rollins_, he said, but that's an easy mistake. I feel quite honored to have met him."

He stayed by her side for the remainder of the evening with single-minded devotion, and, while Rose refused to dance with him again, his constant presence kept her from dancing with anyone else as well. Her only relief stemmed from her friend's kindness. Seeing Rose's predicament, Martha made an effort to join them often, drawing Mickey's attention away from Rose for short periods of time and thus preserving her sanity.

The rest of her family seemed almost equally bent on humiliating themselves. Mostly out of habit, Joan eventually found her way to the piano, where her modest skills were usually welcomed. At such a grand event, however, her halting tempo and weak voice were almost jarringly out-of-place. In vain Rose tried to catch her eye and hint that she should let someone else play. Eventually her father stepped in to stop her, rather bluntly, and Rose ached at the hurt on Joan's face as she complied.

As expected, Lucy and Lynda spent the entire night dancing gleefully. They grew sillier as the night wore on, however, calling undue attention to themselves and their childish behavior.

Rose's chief joy and comfort this night, when so many things had gone awry, lay in witnessing the budding relationship between her sister and Mr. Harkness. However, it soon became quite apparent that her mother felt the same and seemed determined to share her feelings with the entire room.

"He is quite a catch for our Donna," she enthused loudly to Mrs. Jones, who was sitting right beside her. "Rich and handsome and amiable, and with a house so close by! And of course their marriage will throw the girls into the path of other rich men!"

Though many undoubtedly heard her exclamations, Rose noticed with alarm that Mr. Smith was stationed quite close by. Earnestly she begged Jackie to lower her voice, which of course only made her defensive, and thus louder. "Why should I care what himself over there hears?" Rose blushed, and oh, she was doing that rather often tonight. Her eyes flitted repeatedly, almost involuntarily to Mr. Smith, who seemed to be firmly ignoring her mother. He quite obviously heard, however, as his look of indignation and distaste slowly evolved into one of calm and severe resolve. Several times Rose caught him staring at _her_, his expression unreadable.

Luckily, Jack and Donna seemed oblivious to all the nonsense going on around them. Rose watched them with fondness, warming even more towards this man who brought out Donna's vivacity and self-assurance. Later that evening as they prepared to leave, Jackie and Mr. Collins took turns declaring their satisfaction with the evening. Mr. Smith remained silent and somber, and Jack's sisters likewise said little, making it quite obvious that they were eager to be rid of them.

Mr. Harkness, of course, was a most gracious host, thanking them for coming and bringing so much joy to the party, though his eyes hardly left Donna's as he spoke. Jackie insisted that he come over for dinner soon, and he agreed readily. While he had business in London tomorrow, he promised to visit as soon as he returned, and Jackie left feeling quite satisfied about the future.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: Sorry for the wait on this one, lovely readers. I am so encouraged by how many people are following this story, and tremendously thankful for the reviews! :) Fans of the novel will see a bit more digression here with the character of Mr. Collins; I hope you like it. (crosses fingers) _

_Many thanks to lastincurableromantic for her beta services._

* * *

Rose awoke the next morning with less than her usual cheerfulness. She had slept poorly, troubled by all that had been revealed at the dance, as well as a strange sense of foreboding. Still bleary-eyed and yawning, she joined the rest of the family at breakfast, where she quietly nursed her tea. Donna, noting her silence and the slight shadows beneath her eyes, cast a worried glance in her direction. Eventually awake enough to handle more than the cup before her, Rose caught Donna's questioning look and made an attempt to shrug off the cloud hanging over her. She gave a reassuring smile, shaking her head, and Donna relaxed a little. She knew something was still off, but Rose was not one for hiding things from her, and she would know before long.

Breakfast was soon over, and Rose had already adjourned to the sitting-room with her book. Jackie and Lynda were eagerly recalling the extravagant gowns they'd seen at the ball, particularly those worn by Mr. Harkness' sisters. Rose desperately wanted a chance to speak with Donna in private. By the time they had returned last night, it had been so late that they had barely made it out of their dresses before collapsing onto their beds in exhaustion.

The sound of someone clearing his throat from the doorway caused all three ladies to look up. Mr. Collins hesitated there, looking rather uncomfortable but determined. "I wonder, Mrs. Tyler, if you might allow me a private conversation with Miss Rose?" he queried, inclining his head slightly. He spoke with great importance, and the ominous cloud Rose had felt earlier grew darker, pressing down upon her.

She could feel the beginnings of panic race through her. Her eyes flew from Mickey's waiting form to Jackie, who held her gaze and nodded firmly, a warning in her eyes. _'You know how much this means to us. Don't blow it.' _Jackie then quickly rose, urging Lynda ahead of her. Lynda seemed reluctant, not missing the way Rose's eyes pleaded silently for her to stay, but their mother was unyielding. "Of course, Mr. Collins. Lynda and I were just about to go outside and gather some flowers, weren't we?"

"Please stay, Mum. I'm sure whatever Mr. Collins has to say to me cannot require you to leave. _Please_," Rose begged.

"Don't be silly, Rose. You will stay and hear him out, dear," she admonished her daughter. With that they bustled from the room, leaving Rose alone with Mr. Collins.

Though she had jumped to her feet in her desire to flee, Rose closed her eyes tightly and sat once again, struggling to remain calm. _Please don't do it, please don't ask_, her mind entreated him.

Mickey cleared his throat again nervously, then began what sounded like a very practiced speech. "I'm sure you can guess my intentions, dear cousin, for wishing to speak with you this way. In my short time here you have won me over completely, and I hope that you will soon consent to be my wife."

When Rose, who had indeed gone quite still, refused to meet his eyes, he forged ahead. "I'm not at all troubled by your show of modesty; in fact, in only adds to your many charms. I think you might wonder at my reasons for marrying, so... First, I think it right for a clergyman to set the example for his flock. Second, I think it will make me quite happy. And third, it was most kindly urged by my honorable patroness. She told me to find a good, helpful girl, proper but not too fastidious. I immediately thought of your family and of the good I could achieve by looking here first." In a softer, more earnest voice he continued, "And I find you clever and amiable, and I'm sure we will learn to be happy together."

Rose finally met his eyes, and her heart broke to see the honesty and kindness she had suspected was hidden there, beneath all the foppish formality. This was _not_ how she'd meant to discover it, though. She did not want to hurt him, but it could no longer be helped. She tried to make her response as gentle as she could. "I am very honored, cousin, by your thoughtful proposal, but I _must_ refuse."

Mickey tugged a bit at his collar. "I've heard that it is common for a woman to reject her suitor at first, desiring to be wooed further before she accepts his offer. I can be both patient and persistent, if that's what you want."

Taking a deep breath, Rose fought back her sympathy and frustration with this man. "Please don't, sir! I would never treat a man in such a heartless way!" she exclaimed. "You are my relation, and I wish only the best for you, but I am sure we would not be happy together. Please, do not press this any further."

A touch of hurt showed on his face as he began to accept the honesty of her refusal. "But... surely you noticed my attentions to you?" He looked down at his hands, his voice faltering. "I do like you, Rose, and... and I thought this arrangement would help us both."

She wanted to take his hands in hers, but knew that such sisterly impulses had helped foster their current unhappy predicament. Instead she tried to infuse her words with the sincerity and regret she felt. "I am so sorry, Mr. Collins, if you feel I encouraged you in these feelings. I care for you, but only as your cousin. Your intentions were very honorable, and you should feel no further guilt about the entailment. You've done more than your share to try to mend it."

He received her assurance in silence, his eyes still downcast. "It's him, isn't it?" he asked after a lengthy pause.

_Him? What on earth...?_ "I'm sorry?" _Could he possibly have guessed at her feelings for Mr. Saxon? Surely not_.

"Mr. Smith." He hesitated a bit before finding the courage to meet her eyes again, but she saw resolution there. She could only imagine the surprise in her own. "I saw you dancing with him, and the way he looked at- ... He is a very respected man, Miss Rose, but you should know that he is betrothed to another, to Lady Yvonne's daughter."

Rose gaped at him in shock. _ Mr. Smith? _She almost laughed aloud at the conclusions he'd drawn but was more moved by his obvious desire to protect her, regardless of the pain and humiliation she'd caused him. "No," she replied once she'd recovered, "I have no inclination to marry _at all_ at present, though I truly appreciate your concern."

Mickey nodded and rose, bowing stiffly before quickly exiting the scene of his disappointment.

Rose sat in the now still room, overwhelmed by what had just happened. Her respite lasted only a minute before she heard Jackie's cry of outrage, and she steeled herself for the battle to come. But the worst of it, which whispered that she deserved her mother's wrath, was the feeling of regret in the pit of her stomach - not for turning him down, but for hurting him in this way, unconscious though it might have been.

She could hear Jackie's voice carrying down the hall. "Don't fret, Mr. Collins. She's a stubborn girl. She gets too easily caught up in those dreams of hers to see what's good and solid right in front of her. Cool your heels a moment. I'll set her straight."

"Please, Mrs. Tyler, don't trouble yourself or Miss Rose any further. I am not _that_ foolish. I will stay on, but ask that no further mention be made of this. I have no wish to be rejected again." The hurt was clearly there, making her wince, but Rose felt proud of the way he stood up to her mother's interfering. Soon she heard the front door close and observed him walking towards the gardens, deep in thought.

Upon being summoned to her father's library, Rose found her mother properly riled and pacing in front of an admirably calm Pete Tyler. "She thinks she's so high and mighty. Doesn't she realize what she's passing up?" Seeing the shift in her husband's focus, she rounded angrily on Rose. "Mr. Collins is a good and decent man, and you're being foolish, holding on to those ideals of yours, Rose! And you're not just hurtin' yourself, either!"

Jackie saw her words hit their mark as Rose's face fell, momentarily thinking of the security that she was denying her sisters. But no, that wasn't fair, holding her responsible for some rubbish law, and her eyes snapped back up as Jackie continued. "Talk some sense into her, Pete. I don't know how much longer he'll wait, since she already turned him down."

Pete considered the scene before him, steepling his fingers thoughtfully under his chin. "Just so I'm clear... Mr. Collins proposed to you, Rose?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you turned him down?"

"I did," she replied.

"I believe that your mother would strongly urge you to reconsider, am I right, dear?" he asked, now addressing his wife.

"She will, or I will never speak to her again."

Pete considered a playful response as to the merits of that option, but wisely admitted it was not the time. Even in this crisis he could see Rose shared his amusement, which returned his attention to the matter at hand. He knew her compassionate nature was touched by their peculiar relation, but he honestly could not see his Rose happily _married_ to him. Besides which, and more importantly, she seemed to share his opinion. To him there was only one choice to make, for which he was sure he would pay dearly. "I'm sorry to say that you will lose either way, Rosie, as your mother will never speak to you again if you _don't_ accept him, and I will never speak to you if you _do_."

Jackie spluttered at his unexpected reply, and Rose sent him a thankful smile as she escaped from the room and Jackie's imminent wrath.

* * *

The remainder of the morning passed far too slowly for Rose. True to her word, Jackie did not so much as look at her after the confrontation in the library, turning to her other daughters for sympathy. Mickey withdrew into himself, and while always polite, was much less talkative than he had been previously. Rose and Donna wandered outside to escape the tense atmosphere and were delighted to spy Martha walking down the lane. After Rose shared the unfortunate events of the morning, receiving the comfort and support of her two dearest friends, the girls returned dutifully to the house.

Jackie greeted Martha warmly while blatantly ignoring Rose, who stood right beside her. "I s'pose she's filled you in, then. Maybe you can talk some sense into her. Marrying Mr. Collins would earn her security and respect. A decent, _normal_ life, but is that good enough for her? Oh, no! All those fanciful ideas about falling in love and traveling the world," she railed, rolling her eyes at the apparent ridiculousness of such notions. "Why you'd think she was a proper lady, with all the airs and graces she puts on."

Her speech was cut off by the entrance of Mr. Collins, who despite his discomfort asked respectfully after Martha and her family. He gave a genuine smile of relief upon seeing her, remembering her kindness to him at the Torchwood ball and feeling more than ready for a distraction. Rose once again felt a swelling of gratitude towards her friend. While nothing would move her to change her answer, it pained her to cause him such unhappiness. Soon he and Martha were tucked away in a corner of the parlor, chatting quite easily. After receiving Jackie's rather reluctant consent, Martha extended an invitation for Mr. Collins to spend the rest of his visit with her family, which he quickly and rather eagerly accepted. When they left later that afternoon, the house breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Feeling rather indebted to her friend's generous nature, Rose had just settled down to work on a handkerchief she'd been embroidering for Martha when Jackie entered the room. Bracing herself for more scolding, Rose looked up in surprise a moment later when her mother took a seat beside her on the sofa. Her looks still quite stern, Jackie sighed. However foolish she thought them, she loved her children dearly; it's why she fought so hard to do right by them. "You're sure about this, Rose?"

"I care about him, Mum. I do. But not like that. We wouldn't make each other happy. I don't want to just settle, 'cause we both deserve better than that." It was one of those precious moments when Jackie's compassion shone through her brashness, and Rose searched her mother's eyes earnestly, wanting her to understand.

Regret was plain in her mother's face, but understanding was there, too. "I know it, sweetheart. Knew it from the start, really. Doesn't mean I don't regret it, though. Can't help wanting what's best for ya."

Thankful for whatever had caused her mum's change of heart, Rose fell into her arms, pulling her into a fierce hug. Surprised but pleased, Jackie wrapped her arms around her daughter with a smile. "Well, then. Didn't last very long, did I? S'pose it'll all work out, somehow. Least we've still got Mr. Harkness."

* * *

Rose had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Saxon the next morning when she and her sisters ventured into town. As he joined them in walking to their aunt's, he apologized for his absence at the ball. "The more I thought about it, the less ready I felt to meet Mr. Smith again. And I was afraid that any confrontation between us might make others uncomfortable as well."

Rose smirked slightly, thinking that a little more drama really wouldn't have made much difference. But then she remembered the storm she'd seen in Mr. Smith's dark eyes and conceded that perhaps he was right. "Of course," she replied. "Though I daresay you were missed, by most of us anyway."

He smiled at that, and they had a pleasant walk home. Rose beamed under his devoted attention and had the honor of introducing him to her parents. Jackie, who had heard such wonderful accounts of him, was quickly won over by his charm, and Pete found him quite easy and entertaining to talk with.

Shortly thereafter, a note arrived for Donna from Torchwood. A happy flush spread across Donna's face as she swiftly opened it and began to read. With mounting concern Rose watched the color just as quickly recede from her sister's face, leaving it almost unnaturally pale, her hands trembling as she studied the letter before her. Closing her eyes for a moment, Donna quietly tucked the note away and attempted to join the conversation, but her thoughts were obviously elsewhere. Rose no longer had patience for anything else, not even Mr. Saxon's company; she desired only to rush to her sister's side and comfort and protect her from whatever had shaken her so badly.

When Mr. Saxon left, Rose followed Donna upstairs to their room to avoid being overheard. "It's from Reinette Harkness. I... they've gone, Rose. They've gone, and they're not coming back." Her voice faltered as she met Rose's gaze, confusion and sadness etched across her face. "She says that '_she will miss little about this place except our friendship_,' though she hopes we can remain friends despite the distance between us."

Rose blinked, caught off-guard by this development. "Well, I'm sorry your friends left so hastily, but Mr. Harkness will return soon, at least."

"Reinette seems to think that his business will keep him in London longer than he thought, and that he will be quite happy to remain in town once he's there. They followed so that he would not have to be alone. She wishes me a happy Christmas, and hopes that I will have so many admirers that I will hardly notice their absence. So you see, it is quite fixed."

"I see only that she hopes to keep him there," Rose replied, trying to hold back her irritation at the meddling hidden within the words.

Hurt, along with the slightest hint of anger, colored Donna's voice as she continued. "Oh, but there's more. '_Mr. Smith is eager to see his sister again. She is all a young lady should be: lovely, elegant, and accomplished. Cassandra and I love her dearly, and Jack has always been fond of her. With all the time they will now spend together and the ease with which my brother can capture a woman's heart, is it wrong of me to hope for that happy event which will soon allow me to call her my sister?'_ "

The resignation on Donna's face as she spoke was harder for Rose to handle than anything else. "Reinette does not wish or expect me to ever be her sister. Her brother obviously harbors no special feelings for me, and, if she does suspect my own feelings, she now hopes to let me down gently."

"Can I tell you what I think?" Rose asked, her eyes sparking dangerously.

"Of course."

"Reinette _sees_ that Jack is in love with you, but wants him to marry Miss Smith. She chases after him, hoping to keep him in town and make you think it was all in your imagination." When Donna still seemed doubtful, Rose grew adamant. "_Anyone_ who saw you two together could tell he cares for you, Donna! Miss Harkness would start sending out wedding invitations if Mr. Smith was half as in love with her as Mr. Harkness is with you! But in her eyes we are not good enough for them, just poor, uncouth country folk. Perhaps she even imagines she could turn it into a double wedding."

At that thought, Rose gave an unladylike snort. "I _almost_ feel sorry for her. But believe me, Donna, she will not be able to talk him out of loving you."

"But... I can't believe she would act like that, deceiving us all so! Perhaps she has deceived herself, and truly believes he doesn't care for me."

"Not likely," Rose muttered, but aloud she said, "Then she is blind. I know you consider her your friend, so believe that if you must, since you won't believe me. Just don't worry anymore, okay?"

Donna tilted her head to the side, considering, and Rose noticed some of the color had returned to her face. "How could I truly be happy, even if we are right, if his sisters and friends wished he were with someone else?"

Rose bit back a smile. "I guess you'd have to decide, then. If it hurt too much to disappoint his sisters, then I suppose you'd have to refuse _him_," she quipped, her tongue peeking out teasingly.

Donna grinned and smacked her arm. "Oi! What do you take me for?"

" 'S what I thought." She rubbed at her arm, pretending to wince in pain. "Jack is an intelligent man and free to make his own choices. I refuse to believe that Reinette's opinion will keep him anywhere he doesn't want to be, especially when he seemed so unwilling to leave. He will be back."

Happily, Donna seemed comforted by Rose's reassurances, and together they hoped that he would soon return to Torchwood. They did not speak again of anything beyond his returning, as they'd already entertained the idea of that possible blissful future more than they usually would have dared. Hope burned silently within them, however, dimmed only slightly by Jackie's unhappiness at finding the whole party had left town.

With all that had gone awry in the last couple of days, it would have been so easy to fall into regret or despair. Instead Rose approached it with her usual optimism. _Hope is a good emotion_, she thought. _I quite like hope_.


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's Note: Much love to those of you who are still with me! You've been very patient, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. I always struggle through the chapters when Elizabeth and Darcy are apart. Little changes to the story and characters in this one, and much love to my amazing beta, lastincurableromantic, for helping me try to keep the characters true. I did mess with it afterwards, though, so all mistakes are mine. And I always love to hear what you think!_

* * *

Smiling at the warm sun overhead, Rose ambled merrily along the road leading to the Jones' home. With the departure of Mr. Collins, a measure of normalcy and peace had returned to the Tyler house. However, while Rose knew that deep down her mother had 'forgiven' her for turning Mickey down, Jackie made no attempt to hide her disappointment. To escape from the endless sighs and grumblings about "her poor nerves" and "ungrateful children," and because she felt deeply grateful for Martha's kindness, Rose had quietly escaped each of the last two mornings to visit Martha and check on her cousin. It was only a short walk, and she wrapped a light shawl around her against the chill in the late autumn air.

As she neared her friend's home, the scene that opened up before her abruptly halted her steps. There, sitting on the wrought iron bench beneath magnificent oak trees, under whose arching branches the two friends had chased each other giggling as children and in later years confessed their dreams and disappointments... there sat Mr. Collins and Martha, holding hands, completely oblivious to Rose's approach.

Rose blinked rapidly. Both her mental and motor faculties seemed to have stuttered to a stop. Moments later Martha happened to look up and see her friend's frozen state. She quickly leaned in towards Mickey, her quietly spoken words causing him to glance up sheepishly before silently retreating to the house.

Martha then calmly approached her dear friend, trying to hide her trepidation. She did not regret anything that had occurred in the last few days; in fact, she felt happier and more hopeful than she had in years. She'd always had a more practical, 'realistic' view of life and love than Rose. In addition, she was both strong-willed and smart, with hardly any inheritance, none of which added to her chances of marrying well.

Now, however, a surprising chance at happiness lay before her. What had begun as a kindness to her friend had quickly changed as she felt the natural attraction between Mr. Collins and herself. _Yes_, he was a bit daft and awkward sometimes, and he tried too hard to live up to some ridiculous ideal he'd created in his mind. But, much like her friend, Martha felt a lot of that stemmed from his regrettable childhood, and she could see and was drawn to the good, kind man underneath. The few days they'd spent together had been revelatory and wonderful. When they were alone, she'd been able to draw out an earnestness and honesty in him, and he wasn't at all intimidated by her intelligence and forthrightness, as so many men were. And despite their somewhat unconventional beginning, she hoped that, in the end, Rose would see past it and be pleased for them.

"Rose."

With a start, Rose realized that Martha was now standing directly in front of her, her eyes full of concern even as a smile played at her lips. She looked... happy. Truly happy. Rose's heart instinctively flooded with warmth, but her mind couldn't process what she'd seen. She felt a filial affection for Mickey, yes, but he was still so... And they hardly knew each other! Why, only two days ago he had asked _her_ to marry him!

Rose peered up into the cloudy sky, trying to get ahold of herself. Perhaps she was only imagining things. After all, what had she really _seen_, except...

"We're engaged." Martha's dark eyes were watching her intently, full of confidence.

Rose stood gaping a moment before her voice returned. "But you can't! Engaged to _Mr. Collins_?" she protested. "I can't believe it, Martha!"

Martha tried her best not to be affronted, to remember the complicated circumstances surrounding them, but her words still came out sounding defensive. "I can and I am, Rose. You think that it's ridiculous anyone could like him, just because he wasn't good enough for you?" She regretted it instantly, watching as Rose recoiled from her.

"You know that's not..." Rose started to reply, frustration and hurt coloring her tone. She took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm down. "It's just all so sudden. I... I don't know what to think. If you're sure this is what you want, then of course I will be happy for you. It's just, this is _big_, y'know? The rest of your life. I only want the best for you, Martha." She reached out to squeeze her friend's hand.

Somewhat placated, Martha squeezed back. She saw and understood Rose's concern, but it still smarted that her long-time friend would doubt her judgment in such a weighty matter. She dropped her hand with a small smile. "I know you do. You know that I never really expected something like this to happen. But now, with Mick-... _Mr. Collins_, it has been so effortless. I can't quite describe it; I've never felt this way for anyone before. It just feels _right_. And I know it's fast and that he's not perfect, but neither am I. We understand and care for each other, and I know we will be happy. Trust me, okay?"

Rose nodded and smiled, offering her congratulations, but there was a small yet noticeable distance between them as they parted that tore at her heart.

* * *

When Mr. and Mrs. Jones arrived at the Tyler house later that afternoon to announce their daughter's engagement, the surprise that rippled through the room was palpable. The Jones' themselves were overjoyed, having practically resigned themselves to the idea that their bright, opinionated daughter, at the ripe old age of twenty-four, would never marry. However, the stunned silence that followed their announcement soon grew uncomfortable.

Feeling somewhat responsible, Rose jumped in, confirming the news by telling an abbreviated version of her conversation with Martha that morning. Donna soon joined her in conveying their congratulations and best wishes for the couple. Pete shook Mr. Jones' hand heartily, wondering what had come over the level-headed Martha to make her accept such a silly man. He had always loved her like a daughter and thought her as bright as, if not slightly brighter than his Rosie. He now concluded that Rose had the edge in that department.

It soon became clear that for Jackie even the common courtesies were proving difficult. Though she had grudgingly come to terms with Rose's refusal, this felt like a slap to the face. She could hardly believe it. After their guests departed, she alternated between denial and anger. They _could not_ be engaged and certainly wouldn't be happy, and had the girls noticed the way Mrs. Jones contemplated her surroundings with newfound interest? (Which, to be fair, she had, just a bit.)

While they still saw each other often, Rose and Martha both felt the strain on their friendship, neither one knowing quite what to say. Both felt the lack, and Rose clung just a little tighter to Donna as a result.

Rose watched anxiously as the days slipped by with no sign of Jack's returning. And though Donna had promptly replied to her friend's parting letter, she had received nothing more from Reinette, either.

Word began to spread through town that Mr. Harkness and his party would not return this winter, which Jackie always vehemently denied. At home she complained at length about his absence, about the evils of city life, about broken dinner engagements and ill-used daughters. Donna endured it with a sweetness and patience that Rose believed qualified her for sainthood.

Two weeks later, Mr. Collins imposed himself upon the Tyler home yet again. While his welcome was not nearly as warm as before, it mattered little as he spent much of his time at the Jones' estate with his fiancée. His presence renewed Jackie's indignation over their eventual loss of the estate. Despite the love she had for Martha, the unfairness of the entail seemed multiplied now that the girl stood to inherit their home. "It just isn't right, Pete, that one day I will be cast out like so much rubbish, so that _Martha Jones_ can be the lady of this house."

"Let us hope then, dear, that you do not live to see such a day. Perhaps I will outlast you," Pete teased.

Jackie's answering glare was scathing. "Oh, that's nice, that is. It's all a big joke to you, is it, Pete Tyler? Couldn't be bothered to entail your estate to your own children! I'll never understand it!"

Exasperated but amused, Pete mused that, considering the numerous times they'd tried to explain it to her, she probably never would. How he also wished things were different, but that he had no say at all in the matter. He approached his wife with caution, making sure her hands were safely by her side as he pulled her into his arms. "Course I don't like it, love. You and the girls mean everything to me." Sighing, his wife laid her head against his shoulder. The jab to his ribs as she wrapped her arms around him was _completely_ accidental.

* * *

Their last remnant of hope was crushed the following day by the long-awaited letter from Miss Harkness. Reinette declared them all to be "quite happily settled" in London for the season. Her brother was currently visiting at Mr. Smith's home, which led to a delighted outpouring of love for his sweet sister and a conviction that her hopes concerning her brother and Miss Smith would soon come to pass. Each word stung, and Donna hid away in her room until the evidence of her silent tears had faded.

Quietly she stole down the stairs in search of Rose, who had just returned from a walk into town. One glance sufficed for Rose to pull Donna away to their favorite spot in the garden, where they could share their secrets with some measure of privacy. Never raising her voice, indeed hardly looking at Rose at all, Donna conveyed the heartbreaking contents of the letter.

While it was a pleasantly cool day, Rose felt a fiery resentment burn within her. She now felt secure in her judgment of Jack's sisters and friend, whom she was convinced had heartlessly interfered in the matter. Now, however, she found her feelings toward Jack changing as well. She still firmly believed that he cared deeply for Donna, that he had been falling for her, and her anger now flared against him for allowing his friends to sway him. To think she had once defended him for his easy nature, which now had quite betrayed him into sacrificing not only _his_ happiness, but _Donna's_ as well. Did he still care for her, or was he truly as fickle as his sister implied? Did he know that he would leave a broken heart behind him?

But when it came down to it, plagued as she was by so many questions, the most important part of the whole mess stood before her. Her gentle, sweet Donna, who had more courage and compassion that anyone she'd ever met, turned shining blue eyes to her, imploring her for answers. Rose could only hold her tightly, murmuring gentle, soothing words as her eyes flashed angrily, a silent warning to anyone that dared to hurt one she loved.

Rose shared the news with her family, trying her best to make it seem entirely normal and expected. Donna bore her misery quietly, refusing to discuss it further. However, after suffering through a rather bitter dose of Jackie's complaining the next day, Donna could hold it in no longer. "I do wish she would just let it go! She doesn't think of how it hurts to keep hearing his name, when I wish to forget. Oh! I'm sorry," she whispered from between her fingers. With firmness in her voice, she continued, "I will be better. Soon enough we will all move on from this, and everything will be as it should again."

Rose fought to hold her tongue, hoping Donna would finally open up, but she couldn't hide her look of incredulity.

"I see that. You don't believe me," Donna continued, her attempt at resolve betrayed as her voice wavered. "I will always remember him as the most pleasant man I ever met. That's all. I have nothing to hope or fear. He did nothing wrong, made no promises. I am glad that there was nothing more, as the affection I imagined has consequently harmed no one but myself."

Tears pressed behind Rose's eyes as she crushed her sister into a hug. "Oh, Donna! How can you not be angry? You are too good, too selfless to be real!"

Donna began to shake her head in protest, and Rose pulled back to look at her, conviction in her eyes. "You can't bear to hear ill spoken of anyone and are always determined to think the best of everyone, except yourself! You are good and kind and brave, and forgiving almost to a fault. I know you better than I know myself, Donna, and I will always believe in you. I only wish my faith in others could be as strong."

"I know you are surprised by Martha's sudden engagement," Donna replied, intuitively knowing what was on Rose's mind. She knew the silence between the two friends troubled Rose deeply. "But from what I've seen, I truly think they have an understanding and affection for each other. Not enough for you perhaps, Rose, but we must hope and trust that they will be happy, despite the quickness of it all."

Rose sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears. Her sister, in the midst of her own suffering, was still considering the happiness of others before her own. "I know. I love Martha so much, and Mickey, well..." Rose hesitated, trying to sort her tangled emotions. "Ugh! Why'd he have to go and complicate things? 'Cause I care about him, too, but this... I just don't know what to think. But I _will_ try to think and hope as you do, for their sakes."

Donna gave her a tiny smile, but her eyes were still sad. "Yeah. Let's hope together. But Rose," she went on, and now her gaze was imploring, "I think I know who else you meant, and I beg you, don't blame _him_. It would hurt me to think your regard for him had fallen. He is carefree and friendly without reservation; it's why he is so well-liked. It's not his fault that women tend to attach more meaning to a man's attentions than is meant. I'm sure he never intended to encourage false hopes in me. 'Twas my own vanity."

"Yeah, and if you're vain, than I'm the Queen of England," Rose muttered. "And no, I don't believe Mr. Harkness meant any harm, but harm was still done. When we are thoughtless or fickle, or careless of how our actions might affect others, we can hurt them unintentionally." Rose felt a twinge of shame at that, knowing she herself was not innocent of such mistakes.

"And you think he acted this way?"

"I see no other alternative, Donna, than inconstancy." She took care to couch her next words as gently as possible. "He obviously cared for you, yet he allowed himself to be swayed by his sisters and friend."

Donna flinched slightly but seemed to accept Rose's declaration as she replied, "You still think they influenced him, then. I... Rose, I just _can't_ accept that. Surely they only care for his happiness, and if he did care for me, then he wouldn't be content anywhere else. Right?"

"I agree with the last bit, sweetheart, but I believe that they value many things besides his heart. Like wealth and consequence and connections," she said, bitterness clouding her tone.

"They _do_ hope he will choose Miss Smith, quite clearly, but they have known and loved her longer than me; of course they'd prefer her. But I just can't believe that any sister would presume to interfere with her brother's personal life, unless the woman in question was a proper terror. No, I must believe that if he truly cared for me, they would not oppose it, and that they wouldn't succeed against him even if they did. Your view of his affection pains me _too much_, for then they have all acted poorly. I prefer to believe I was mistaken, which hurts me much less, truly, than thinking badly of him or his sisters. Please, Rose."

Rose fell silent, understanding Donna's request, but her heart broke regardless.

* * *

Out of love for her sister, Rose and Donna did not speak of the matter again. Unfortunately, this understanding did not apply to the rest of the household. Rose ran interception as much as she could, warning Donna away with a glance when Jackie was feeling particularly disgruntled. More often than not, she found herself parroting the very opinion she did not believe, but hoping its repetition would eventually silence her mother: that Mr. Harkness' attentions to Donna had been only a common and fleeting affection, forgotten once she was out of his sight.

Pete Tyler wondered at the curious turn of events, as he had rather thought their young neighbor to be taken with Donna as well. He worried a little but felt sure she'd soon recover, and he couldn't help trying to lighten the rather somber mood that had settled on the house. When Rose ventured into the library in search of a book to escape into, he commented, "So our poor Donna has been crossed in love. She deserves better than that. There is a kind of melancholy distinction to it, though, isn't there? It might even become fashionable. There's plenty enough officers to jilt all the girls in town. Which one'll you have then, Rosie? Perhaps that affable Saxon fellow? Reckon he'd do a smashing job."

With only a hint of reproach in her eyes, Rose laughed at her father's audacity, grateful for his attempt at humor. "I suppose. You know I like the pretty ones, though for a jilting, I guess it doesn't much matter."

"And either way, you can trust your dear mum to make the most of it."

Indeed, Mr. Saxon's frequent company did much to lighten their spirits with his easy company and entertaining stories. At some point his story had spread through town, of how poorly Mr. Smith had treated him and of his consequent suffering. Donna alone stood firm, saying that too little was known of the case and so desiring them not to judge too harshly. However, the town generally agreed that they had never liked Mr. Smith in the first place, and that he was the worst kind of man.


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's Notes: This chapter got away from me a bit, but I promise Rose and John will meet again soon. (Rose will be leaving home in the next chapter... :) _

_I have been struggling a bit lately, so if you are still with me and enjoying this, please leave a review - just a couple words would be wonderful! They really do give me the confidence and motivation to keep writing! And much love to all of you who have reviewed!_

_Beta'd by lastincurableromantic_

* * *

At last Mr. Collins again prepared to return to home to Hunsford. Rose made an effort to be friendly whenever she saw him, knowing he received little kindness from the other occupants of the house, but she could not even think how to approach the elephant in the room: his surprising and fast-approaching marriage to her friend. Several times he had seemed on the verge of saying something to her as well, but his nerves always won out.

Then he was gone, and Rose's regret was pushed aside with the approaching Christmas holiday and the arrival of her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. Her uncle was a good-natured, honest man who made a fair living at trade yet had the manners and generosity of a gentleman. His wife, Harriet, had always been a favorite with her nieces and had developed a close friendship with Rose and Donna as they grew. She was kind and smart and, even though she was several years older than Jackie, the girls often found her more understanding and easier to talk to.

"Oh, my dears! It's so good to see you again," their aunt greeted them, bursting forth from the carriage to embrace Rose and Donna in turn. They had heard the buggy's arrival upstairs and rushed out to welcome their relatives. Rose beamed. She had always adored Aunt Harriet's exuberance and directness. Harriet was just as opinionated as her younger sister, but put her persistence and intelligence to better use; she was always championing one cause or another, trying to make life better for someone.

Hustling them towards the front door, Mrs. Gardiner called out a cheery greeting to the rest of the family, who quickly gathered in the sitting room to share the latest gossip and quiz her on the current London fashions. Her husband ambled after them with an amused smile, letting the girls have their 'catch-up.' Pete stopped him just before he entered the room, motioning silently for him to follow. He soon found himself happily hidden away in the relative quiet of Pete's study, where they alternately discussed world affairs and shared a companionable silence.

Jackie had, of course, quite readily conveyed her latest grievances to her sister, though Harriet had already heard most of it from her nieces' letters. She hummed sympathetically in all the right places and patted Jackie's hand, yet took the first opportunity to spare the girls by changing the subject. It was quite natural, after all, for a mother to worry over her children, though the she and Jackie might disagree a bit over what was "best" for them.

When Harriet found a moment to speak with Rose in private, she voiced her concerns about Donna. "I do hate what has happened with your sister. It sounds as if they might have actually made a good match. But I suppose it is quite common, unfortunately, for a young man to become taken with a girl for a short time, yet when circumstance separates them to forget her. _Men_. Quite fickle, if you ask me," she sighed.

Rose's eyes blazed, and her aunt was startled by the intensity of emotion in them. "Yeah, he's fickle alright! But it was no _accident_, Aunt! Meddling, the lot of them - his sisters and his "supposed" friend! And he let them lead him away, even though he was madly in love with her!"

Fortunately, her aunt managed to keep her amusement in check, instead fastening her niece with a stern look. "_Madly in love_, Rose? You know such words are just as often applied to a fleeting fancy as a real attachment. Did you see any evidence of this _madness_?" she continued, her interest quite evident despite her teasing smile.

"He was drawn to her from the start," Rose replied, and Harriet's smile faded at the sadness in her voice. "Well, it was mutual, really. They were drawn to each other. Each time they met they became more lost in their own little world. By the end of his visit they hardly took notice of anything else, even when you spoke directly to them. It was quite ridiculous, really."

Rose smiled softly before reality crowded back in, her eyes seeking out her aunt's. "She was finally starting to open up to him, to be herself. And I'm worried that this rejection might hurt her more than we know." Tears welled up behind Rose's eyes at the unfairness of it all.

"Oh, darling, come here," her aunt soothed, wrapping her arms around Rose, who willingly leaned into her side. "Our poor Donna. Honestly, I'd rather it had happened to you, dear. You would have laughed it off sooner. Perhaps... do you think she'd be willing to return to town with us? A change of scene might be just what she needs."

"Oh, that's a marvelous idea, Aunt! I'm sure she'd love it!"

"Of course, she shouldn't hope to run into this Mr. Harkness there. We live in a very different part of town and move in separate circles. It would be most unlikely."

Rose snorted. "Nearly impossible, I'd say, as he is now staying with his friend. I'm sure Mr. Smith wouldn't think of stooping so low as to even _walk by_ Gracechurch Street, much less call there, and since Mr. Harkness seems incapable of acting on his own behalf, I think you should be safe."

"Good. I think that's for the best. But what about his sister? Aren't she and Donna friends?"

"I don't think you have any cause to worry there, either. I fear her affection was even more fleeting and less genuine than her brother's."

To their great relief, Donna eagerly embraced the chance to get away for awhile, probably as much to escape the constant speculation and gossip as anything else. She had fully convinced herself that Mr. Harkness' kindness to her had been just that, and her only thought of him now was a sense of relief that, if she went to visit his sister, she'd run very little risk of seeing him there.

The Gardiners stayed for a week, during which Jackie enjoyed playing hostess, keeping them so busy with dinners and outings that they were rarely at the house. They met with the officers rather often during this time, giving Mrs. Gardiner leave to observe Mr. Saxon, of whom she had heard so much. Her shrewd eyes noted with concern the close friendship between him and Rose, but she did not see signs of anything deeper.

She soon found her own reasons for enjoying his company when she learned that he had grown up near her childhood home of Darbyshire. While he had not been there for years, it had been even longer for her, and they had fun comparing the names and faces from their memories. She remembered the late Mr. Smith fondly; he had been well-known and loved in the neighboring village for his kindness and generosity. She had mourned his loss then, and did again now, as it appeared by Mr. Saxon's account that his son fell far short of his dear father's memory.

As Rose helped her to pack her things the day before they were to leave, Harriet gently broached the subject of Rose's relationship with Mr. Saxon. "I hope you will not mind me asking, Rose, out of love for you, that you guard yourself against any stronger feelings towards Mr. Saxon. I will admit, he is quite charming and friendly, but it would not be a wise or prudent choice, with so little income on either side."

Rose looked up, a bit surprised by her aunt's somber advice. "You are very serious, Aunt Harriet. Are you worried about me?"

"I am quite serious, Rose, and no, I'm not terribly worried about you just yet. But you should be careful."

"I should. And so I will make every effort to see that he does _not_ fall in love with me," Rose quipped, brown eyes dancing merrily.

At her aunt's reproving glance, Rose tried to adopt a more solemn tone. "Alright, Aunt. Forgive me. I can only jest because I am not in love with him, though I'll admit I do enjoy his company. But I can see why you would warn me. It is so unfair. That awful Mr. Smith! I will try not to disappoint you or my family. Yet people often fall in love and marry without assurance of fortune or security. I cannot promise that I will not one day abandon everything else for love. To be honest, Aunt, I want that more than anything, to feel that way for someone. That nothing else mattered as long as we were together. But," she stipulated, seeing both understanding and worry in her aunt's face, "I do not feel that way for Mr. Saxon. And I promise not to be in a hurry about it, okay?"

Harriet sighed. "I suppose that'll have to do, dear. I'd expect no less of you, to be honest." She cupped Rose's face in her hand, thinking how similar they were: headstrong and bright, and unwilling to settle for something simply because it had always been or because it was expected.

The Gardiners left the next day, taking a subdued but smiling Donna with them. Rose stood in the road watching them leave and felt hope stir within her against her better judgment. She couldn't help it; it was part of her nature. She raised a hand in farewell, grinning hugely as Donna leaned out of the carriage, waving with child-like abandon as they turned the corner that took them out of sight. If only Jack could see her once again... Remembering the look of adoration on his face when he was with her sister, she just that knew she hadn't been mistaken. He'd been pulled in by her, and maybe, just _maybe_ if they met again, his affection would be rekindled and he would fight for her, for _them_. Like he should have in the first place.

* * *

Two days later Mr. Collins returned, this time staying with his soon-to-be in-laws. The town buzzed with the usual joyful hub-bub of an approaching wedding. Even Jackie found it within her to hope that they would be happy, if they could.

While Rose prepared for the wedding, her emotions were tumbling about tumultuously inside her. Regret and loss were the strongest, though, and she desperately wanted to clear the air with Martha before her friend left. _No, Rose_. She did need to apologize, but she would not allow her selfishness to intrude upon her friend's happiness today. _There would be plenty of time for talking later_, she told herself.

Once at the church she found herself studying Mickey curiously. He looked quite handsome, but what she noticed the most was the brilliant, genuine smile that lit his face, which somehow stretched wider as his bride entered the room.

Martha was _radiant_. Rose's breath caught in her throat, tears of joy streaming down her face at the undeniable love she saw before her. She could read it in their faces, could hear it as they spoke their vows. She laughed at herself a little, thinking how even the people you thought you knew best could still surprise you, and how happy she was for that.

She waited beside the path outside the church with the rest of their family and friends, knowing that a quick hug might be all she could get in before the couple was whisked away to Hunsford.

She was surprised, therefore, when Martha, who had been making happy yet hasty goodbyes on their way to the waiting carriage, practically rushed her, pulling her into a tight hug. They shared teary laughter as they embraced, wordless relief and forgiveness passing between them.

Rose pulled back first, still clinging to Martha's hands. "I'm so sorry. I should've known, should've trusted you, Martha. I am _so_ happy for both of you," she managed through her tears, including Mickey with her radiant smile. His look of surprise soon changed to tenderness as he watched them together, and he surprised _her_ when he mouthed a silent "thank you."

"Thanks, Rose. And yeah, you should have," Martha joked, but there was no anger in her voice. "We'll write, okay? And my father and Tish are going to visit in March. I'd love for you to come, too."

Rose willingly agreed as the happy couple were pulled down the line, and minutes later they began the journey towards what would now be _their_ home. Rose begged off from her family to wander alone through the fields she and Martha had run through as children, not minding the stillness nor the chill in the air. All she knew was the lightness that had suddenly returned to her heart.

* * *

The next few weeks saw a flurry of correspondence at the Tyler home. Martha and Rose, true to their word, wrote each other often. Rose was delighted by the easy renewal of their friendship and looked forward to the letters detailing her friend's new life in the parish. She could sense a slight disappointment from Martha in the way her husband had slipped back into old habits. Of course she knew that true change took time, especially when one returned to a familiar setting and the reign of a rather tyrannical patroness. He _was_ trying, however, with much encouragement and support from Martha, and her friend seemed, on the whole, quite cheerful and content.

Donna had written to confirm that they had arrived safely in London. Rose waited rather impatiently for her next letter, hoping that it might bring some news of Mr. Harkness. Unfortunately they were both disappointed in that, as Donna had still not heard from him or his sister. She explained it away by claiming that her letter to Reinette must have gotten lost. Rose hoped rather than believed that to be true.

The next week Donna had paid Reinette a visit when business happened to bring the Gardiners into that part of town. '_Reinette seemed out-of-sorts, saying that while of course she was pleased to see me, I should have let them know I was in town. So my letter must indeed have gotten lost_.' Rose huffed in disbelief at that. '_I asked after her brother, who is well but so often off with Mr. Smith that they hardly see him. She and her sister had to leave soon after I arrived, but I expect that she will return my visit in the next day or so_.'

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Rose realized that if Jack were to ever discover Donna's presence in town, it would be purely accidental.

No such happy accident occurred, however, and the letter Rose received more than two weeks later effectively sealed the matter. Rose heard nearly all her suspicions confirmed, and she had never hated being right more than in that moment. Donna had waited at home every morning for two weeks, expecting Reinette to call, but had not received so much as a note until she showed up that morning.

'_I'm really not even sure why she bothered to visit, Rose. She was cold and reserved, treating me as if I were a stranger. It was plain that she took no pleasure in seeing me and made no mention of visiting again. I cannot understand it, after she made such an effort to befriend me when they were at Torchwood. I know you love me too much to gloat, but you saw the truth of it. I am so angry and hurt right now, Rose. She has treated me badly, but I still feel sorry for her, because I believe she acts only out of worry for her brother. She admits to his knowing I am in town, yet he has not called or written. How does she not realize that I am nothing to him?_

_ Oh, I miss you terribly, Rose._

_ My aunt and uncle are both so kind and attentive to me, and they send their love to the family. I am delighted that you and Martha have made up, and I hope you have a wonderful visit with her and our cousin and find them blissfully married. Yours ever, Donna._

The sadness contained within her words brought tears to Rose's eyes, though she was glad that Donna was no longer fooled, by the sister at least. While she was not very surprised by the change in Reinette's behavior, she felt sorely disappointed by Jack and angry with herself for trusting him and encouraging her sister's affection. Rose's arms ached, desperate to comfort the sister who was miles away and suffering from a broken heart.


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: __Thank you all so much for reading and for your sweet words. I am touched by how many of you took the time to review. You really keep me going when I want to throw in the towel. :)_

_Beta'd by lastincurableromantic_

* * *

The winter days traipsed idly by, and between longing for her sister and the noticeable lull in the 'goings-on' of the village, Rose found herself eagerly anticipating her visit to the Collins' home.

A letter from her aunt assured her that they were endeavoring to keep Donna diverted as best they could, and that she was being admirably brave and cheerful in spite of all she'd endured. This news did not surprise her sister in the least.

Aunt Harriet also inquired after the promise Rose had given, namely, not to allow herself to become too close to Mr. Saxon. Shaking her head a little, Rose gave a dry laugh as she began her letter. The truth of it was that, while there had been little danger of anything to begin with, there was now none at all. Mr. Saxon had set his sights elsewhere. Oh, he was still friendly, of course, but they spoke much less than before, as his attentions were now focused on Miss King, who had recently come into some money upon her grandfather's death. She observed his defection calmly; she did miss their talks, but she had not loved him. The hint of sadness she felt stemmed from the fact that they lived in a society in which such actions were deemed acceptable, even necessary. _I'm sure it would be much more entertaining for the town if I were heartbroken and forlorn_, she wrote, _but I'm not. In truth, Lucy and Lynda are more broken up about it than I am._

Plans were soon formed between Martha and Rose regarding her visit, which both were looking forward to keenly. To her delight, it was decided that Mr. Jones, Tish, and Rose would stay a night in London with the Gardiners before continuing on to Hunsford the next day. _She would see Donna_. Now that her desire to leave was doubled, as it so often happened, the cold, quiet days seemed to creep by even more slowly than before.

As she prepared to leave amidst a profusion of hugs and a few tears, Rose promised her family that she would write at least once a week. Both of her parents engaged her to provide a full report on Donna's well-being, to which she heartily agreed, warmed by their obvious concern and love, though they sometimes showed it in rather unfortunate ways.

Rose was a bit surprised by the affectionate farewell she received from Mr. Saxon, considering that they had not spoken much lately. She had admired him and enjoyed his company, and truly hoped that he would be happy. For his part, Harold Saxon wished her a happy journey, voicing his confidence that they would always share a similar view of the world, and of certain people in particular.

The short trip to Gracechurch Street was rather uneventful. Mr. Jones occasionally shared a story from his time at St. James' Court, and Tish and Rose discussed their eagerness to visit Hunsford and the much-acclaimed Rosings Park, where the esteemed Lady Yvonne resided. Most of the time was spent in comfortable silence, watching the countryside unfold around them.

Donna spied their arrival from her perch by the front window and was upon them as soon as the carriage door opened. Greeting Tish and Mr. Jones with gladness, she then pulled Rose into a close hug, neither one willing to let go for several moments. Finally they stepped back, joy and relief washing through them, and walked back into the house, their hands tightly clasped between them.

The entire party spent the day in town, shopping and catching up, and in the evening they visited the theater. Though she had stayed as close to Donna as possible during the day, Rose allowed Tish to sit between them now, affording her the chance to speak privately with her aunt.

"How has she been?" Rose queried, cutting immediately to the point. She knew her aunt would not hide the truth from her, however hard the truth might be.

Harriet met her direct gaze, and Rose saw sadness there. "You know Donna, dear. She's put on a brave face, but anyone who knows her can tell she's hurting. And once in a while a day comes when she hardly speaks, looking as if she might break if she did. Oh, Rose," she sighed, her shoulders slumping a little, "I thought being here would help her more. We have tried, but..."

Rose laid her hand on her aunt's. "Her heart was broken. At least here she had some measure of peace and rest. And some... closure," she bit out, her jaw suddenly tight with anger.

An answering flame flickered back from her aunt's usually kind brown eyes. "Indeed. I was quite shocked to think Donna would befriend such a person, though I realize now she was deceived. To what end I cannot comprehend, but the harm done by that _Miss Harkness_ and her friends makes my blood boil. I swear, if I wasn't a lady..."

Fortunately, her aunt seemed equally convinced that Donna had no wish for further contact with Reinette after that last painful visit. Thinking of other mutual acquaintances, Harriet took the opportunity to ask more about Mr. Saxon's new interest. Rose shared all she knew, which was not much. Miss King seemed kind but quiet, and as yet unaffected by the fortune she had so recently acquired.

"I hate to say it of him, but doesn't it seem a bit, I don't know, mercenary almost, pursuing her so soon after her loss? As if he was only drawn to her for her fortune?"

Rose laughed a little, shrugging; the idea had occurred to her and frankly made her a little uncomfortable. "She doesn't seem to mind, so why should we? But truly, Aunt, you said he should not marry me because I have no money, and now he shouldn't marry her because she does? The poor man!"

Aunt Harriet frowned, but there was amusement in her eyes. "You know that I like him, Rose. It's the timing of it that gives me pause, but of course I wish him well. But let us speak of more pleasant matters. Your uncle and I are taking a tour of the northern countryside this summer, perhaps as far as the lakes, and wonder if perhaps you would like to join us?"

Eyes sparkling, Rose leapt to her feet in excitement before remembering where they were. Quickly reclaiming her seat, she turned to fully face her aunt, who was beaming at her niece's delight. Rose grabbed Harriet's hands, bouncing a little in her seat. "Really, Aunt Harriet? Oh, I can't even tell you how happy you've made me! Where shall we go first? Never mind, it doesn't even matter, does it?! We could go anywhere! Enough of anger and disappointment. What are men to rocks and mountains?"

* * *

The following morning the small party continued on to Hunsford. Rose found joy in everything they saw, her heart made lighter by her visit with Donna and the promise of traveling with her aunt and uncle come summertime.

All three of the carriage's occupants eagerly scanned the horizon for their first sight of the parsonage. A minute later it came into view, modest yet charming, and Rose smiled as she remembered the minute descriptions they'd received of both this building and its impressive neighbor.

Her curiosity, however, lay chiefly in the couple who lived within its walls. Would Mr. Collins indeed be the same man who had initially visited them, all awkwardly pretentious, or would they see yet more evidence of Martha's relaxing influence upon him?

And suddenly the chance for speculation had passed as the people in question spotted them, waving joyfully from the gardens where they'd been wandering. Eager for a chance to stretch their limbs, the travelers joined Mr. and Mrs. Collins for a brief stroll around the grounds before venturing inside.

Martha greeted them all cheerfully, and the girls soon launched into the latest news from Meryton, leaving the men to follow behind. Once again Rose observed her friend's genuine happiness, noticing the way she smiled fondly and glanced behind her whenever Mickey's name was mentioned.

Once they were all settled inside, however, a slight tension fell upon the group. Rose felt Mickey's eyes on her, obviously wondering if she was truly okay with all that had happened. She smiled widely at him, and their uncertainty melted away as she asked Martha how she was enjoying life in Hunsford.

They spent a lovely evening relaxing and sharing stories, the picture of domestic contentment. Mickey and Martha had found that they enjoyed working in the garden together and walking into town to visit with friends. Rose listened in astonishment as Mickey animatedly told them about an idea he and Martha had put together. They had started having organized events for the children in the village each Sunday afternoon, usually just playing ball or tag in the field near the church. She had never seen him so open and enthusiastic. Glancing up, she caught Martha smiling proudly at him, and any remaining doubt she'd had about the two vanished.

The next morning dawned crisp and clear, and about mid-morning they received an invitation to dine at Rosings that evening. A hint of something - aggravation, perhaps, mixed with worry - clouded her friend's face momentarily. Rose tilted her head, trying to catch Martha's eye, receiving a wry smile and a look that plainly said _"you'll see"_ when she did.

Though the next few hours were fairly relaxed, Rose marked that occasionally Mickey would still begin to give Lady Yvonne's opinion rather than his own, earning him a nudge to the ribs or a pointed look from Martha. With effort he would pause and meet his wife's confident gaze before starting again. Obviously they were still working through some things, but Rose felt stunned by the depth of understanding already between them.

* * *

As they approached Rosings Park that evening, the visitors admitted that Mr. Collins' effusions on the subject had been quite accurate. The house was both handsome and imposing, much like the lady who presided over it.

Mr. Jones and Tish seemed to be rendered speechless by the grandeur of their surroundings as they were escorted to the room where her ladyship awaited them. True to her nature, Rose took it in stride, though she was admittedly curious and slightly affected by the anxiety she felt radiating from Martha.

Lady Yvonne rose to meet them, her manner immediately conveying authority and not a little condescension, reminding Rose rather strongly of Mr. Smith. Almost in relation to how her mother dominated the room, her daughter seemed to occupy as little space as she could, as if by doing so she could escape notice.

As they stood to go to dinner a short time later, Lady Yvonne, who had indeed been the only one speaking, addressed Mickey imperiously. "Mr. Collins, take them over to the window so they may see the view. Of course it is a much finer prospect in the summer."

Mickey obligingly pointed out the perfectly manicured garden and lawn, and the glimpse of an orchard just around the side. Beautiful but far too structured for her taste, Rose thought, the hedges and trees lined up as if they, too, were bowing to their lady's wishes.

Dinner was elegant, formal, and quite delicious, waking Mr. Jones from his unnaturally quiet state to rather sudden and exuberant praise. To Rose and Martha's dismay, it seemed that the longer they remained at Rosings, the further Mickey slipped back into his old habits, so eager to please and obey that he lost sight of everything else. Unfortunately it seemed as though Martha had expected it, and Rose now had some idea of the frustration her friend felt. Added to which, Rose could see that Martha was constantly holding herself back whenever Lady Yvonne questioned her on the way she ran her home. Her highness apparently never withheld her opinion on any matter, whether it concerned her or not, and Mickey always jumped to agree with her.

When she was able, Martha responded quite composedly, in Rose's opinion. As always, Martha was the truly wise one, knowing that outright defiance would do nothing to help her husband's emerging confidence or to maintain a peaceful relationship between the families. Unfortunately, Mickey paid less attention to Martha's subtle encouragements, acting like a little puppy desperate to please its master. Considering the neglect in his past, there was probably some truth in that assessment, Rose admitted with some sadness.

Rose turned her attention to Lady Yvonne's daughter, whose name she had learned was Isobel. She had lovely brown hair like her mother, but her face was sweet and shy rather than proud and unyielding. Between herself and Tish, they managed to at least get her to speak, though all they learned was that no, she did not often get into town and yes, she liked music very much. Mrs. Jenkinson, who Rose took to be a sort of governess despite Isobel seeming rather too old for one, kept urging her to eat and worrying over her. Rose had the feeling that if she were in Isobel's shoes she might go mad.

They adjourned to the sitting room after dinner, where Lady Yvonne, in speaking to Martha, remarked that her friend seemed "quite refined and pretty." While Martha made no reply, Rose couldn't help looking up in astonishment, unused as she was to being spoken of as though she wasn't there.

Lady Yvonne then began grilling her with all manner of impertinent questions: how many sisters she had, whether they were pretty and likely to marry, what kind of carriage her father had, how many servants they kept, and so on. Rose did her best to follow Martha's lead and keep her cool, rewarding rudeness with sweet civility, but found it increasingly difficult.

"The nature of your entail is quite unfortunate, except, of course, for Mr. and Mrs. Collins," she declared. "On the whole I see no reason to entail an estate away from the female line. I made sure my husband made no such mistake." Rose felt a moment of shock as she realized they actually agreed about something, though, considering what a powerful woman she was, it made a lot of sense. "We have a fine piano here. Do you play and sing, Miss Tyler?"

Ever honest, Rose replied, "I can sing and play a little, but I was never taught."

Surprise crossed the woman's face. "What about your sisters?"

"One of them plays fairly well, and another sings," she replied, thinking of Joan and Donna, "yet none of us are what you might call accomplished."

"You should have been taught! Whatever was your governess thinking?"

"We have never had one."

"Never... never _had_ one!" She looked down her nose imperiously, her indignation aroused. "Nonsense! Your mother must have had her work cut out for her then, teaching all of you. Or perhaps you were simply neglected."

Even as Rose chuckled silently at the idea of Jackie teaching them, she felt her hackles rise a bit. _Martha may have to toe the line with this old biddy, seeing as she's stuck with her, but I don't_. Taking a calming breath, she replied with calm confidence, "My mother did not instruct us, and though some might call it neglect, we were certainly free to learn if we chose to. We were encouraged to read and had tutors in all the necessary subjects. It was our choice, though some chose to be idle."

"A governess would have prevented _that_. It's a shame I did not know your mother, as I often assist others with finding such necessary help," she declared, Mickey nodding faithfully by her side. "Are any of your younger sisters out?"

"Yes, ma'am. All of us are," she smiled, ready this time for the look of shock that would follow.

"All out in society! Before even the eldest is married!" Completely flabbergasted, she looked about ready to fall out of her seat, which gave Rose no small amount of glee. She just managed to hide it behind a small smile. "And your youngest sister is...?"

"Almost sixteen," Rose said, grimacing slightly, "and she _might_ be a bit young yet, I'll admit. But it does seem unfair to deny younger sisters amusement and society just because the eldest may not be inclined to marry. That would breed resentment rather than sisterly love, don't you think?"

The matching expressions of shock around the room were almost comical. Martha, however, appeared to be fighting a laugh as Lady Yvonne retorted, "You give your opinion quite freely for one so young. How old are you, child?"

Rose's spirit balked at the condescension in the lady's address and determined then and there to give this woman a bit of a hard time, something she was clearly not used to. "As I've already admitted that my three younger sisters are out, you can hardly expect me to own it," she replied, smiling.

Lady Yvonne's eyebrows rose sharply as she looked with a mixture of curiosity and disdain at the creature who would dare to answer her in such a manner. Mickey stared at Rose, fear and respect in his features, and Rose gave him a cheeky smile before returning her attention to the lady before her.

"You have no reason to hide your age. You can't be more than twenty."

"I will be twenty-one this year." She smiled, meeting the woman's shrewd eyes with a level gaze, making it plain that she would not be intimidated.

They played cards until Lady Yvonne grew tired of it and offered the carriage to take them home. Mr. Jones showered their hostess with compliments on the evening, which she seemed to receive with a haughty pleasure. Rose pressed Isobel's hand and smiled, grinning encouragingly at the soft smile she received in return. Mickey, though respectful as always, seemed strangely quiet, and Martha took his place in expressing their thanks and hopes to see them again soon.

* * *

The first week of their visit passed in like fashion, enjoying each others' company as they took part in the daily activities of the house and parish. Twice Mickey took his father-in-law out for a drive to show him the surrounding country. Every other day they would walk into the village or dine at Rosings. At the end of the week Mr. Jones returned home, satisfied in his daughter's felicity.

Rose felt surprisingly at ease here, a truth which she would have found hard to believe only a couple months ago. She, Martha, and Tish relished the luxury of spending so much time together, even while doing the simple things like gardening or shopping. Rose found she liked Mickey's company, too. Now that the tension of their situation had dissipated, a nice sort of friendship had sprung up between them.

Since that first night at Rosings, she could tell he had been struggling; she had overheard bits of quiet conversation between him and Martha before making a hasty retreat from the room. Shortly after Mr. Jones' departure, upon finding herself momentarily alone with Mickey in the parlor, she felt moved to speak up, knowing that doing so might push the boundaries of this newfound friendship a bit. "You two are good for each other, you know. You make her so happy," she said warmly.

Mickey smiled, but there was a little uncertainty in his eyes. "Do you think so? I mean, of course I love her. I didn't even know I could feel so much for someone." He lowered his eyes a moment, seeming a bit embarrassed by his honest admission. "But she has so much faith in me, and I feel like a disappointment. I'm not sure I can be the man she thinks I am. The man she deserves."

Rose found herself unable to speak, floored by the man before her and the changes wrought in him by love. Unable to stop herself, she pulled him into a quick hug and saw surprise on his face when she stepped back. But then he smiled, and she knew he understood: they were _friends_.

"You can, Mickey," Rose assured him, pleased that he didn't seem to mind her use of his first name. "Even though I didn't feel _that_ way about you, I really wanted to know you better, to be your friend. Martha and I believe in you because you are a good man. You just have to find a way to believe it yourself."

"Really? You thought...?" He looked at her in amazement. "Thanks, Rose. I am so grateful for your kindness and the way you've accepted me and Martha. And, well, I'll try."

"Good."

And she could tell he was trying. It helped him, knowing that both she and Martha had his back.

Several nights later, they were once again gathered in the sitting room at Rosings, where Lady Yvonne was discussing how to further improve life in the parish. She considered it part of her duty as a powerful public figure to be active in the community, and often involved herself in even the smallest affairs. The villagers generally deferred to her, though their reactions to her meddling ranged from gratitude to irritation.

"I hear you've started a sort of "playtime" for the local children, Mr. Collins. Don't you think your time and theirs would be better spent teaching skills that might be of use to them later?" she asked, though it sounded more like a command than a question.

"No."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Mickey spoke again. "No, ma'am. I think most of them spend enough time working already, which is why Martha and I," here he grabbed her hand, which squeezed his tightly in return, "wanted to give them this time to run and laugh and enjoy being young. And it is good exercise as well."

Lady Yvonne blinked. Mickey swallowed nervously, still holding her gaze.

After a moment Martha spoke up, her eyes shining as she clutched her husband's hand. "Yeah, we were thinking of planning a scavenger hunt next month and were hoping maybe you could help us plan it?"

Looking back and forth between them, Lady Yvonne just stared for a moment, then abruptly began discussing the absolute necessities for such an event.

They also learned that two more visitors would soon be joining them at Rosings Park, namely her nephew, Mr. Smith and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Though there were certainly other people Rose would have preferred to visit with, any addition to their party would certainly add interest and novelty to the gatherings. And she was more than a bit curious to see how he would act around Isobel, to whom he was supposedly promised, and of whom Reinette had seemed so unaware.

After returning home that evening, Mickey, Martha, and Rose stayed awake chatting happily late into the night. An important step had been taken, and all of them, Mickey in particular, were honestly feeling too excited (and triumphant) to sleep.

* * *

John Smith was in shock. He and his cousin Robert had just arrived at Rosings Park this morning. Minutes later Mr. Collins, of all people, had walked in, and he had decided, rather hastily he now thought, to return with him for a friendly visit.

When John had written to his aunt that he and Robert would be coming to visit, she had made no mention of the girl he now discovered to be staying at the parsonage. Indeed, why would she? Lady Yvonne would never suppose that he knew, much less cared for, a simple girl without title or fortune, nor would she approve if she did suspect it.

The problem was that Rose Tyler was no simple girl. She was clever and beautiful, brave and impertinent, and his heart had nearly doubled its pace just thinking about her. _Pull yourself together, old man_, he chided himself. He had hoped that his separation from her would allow his feelings to subside. Allow him to forget her.

Mr. Collins welcomed them into his home, and John's eyes quickly found hers across the room, the passion swirling in those brown depths stopping his breath.

Nope. Not forgotten. Not even close.


	14. Chapter 14

Martha burst into the front room, startling Rose from her daydream. Rose's needlework lay abandoned in her lap, her mind having drifted to faraway places that she would likely never see. She glanced up in surprise; she had rarely seen her usually composed friend so flustered.

"I guess we have you to thank for this, Rose. Mr. Smith would never have come to call so quickly just for me," Martha quipped lightly, her sharp gaze landing on her husband's untidy desk, which she quickly put to rights.

Rose stared at her friend, stunned by her appraisal of things. _Why on earth would she think _that_?_ Of course they had known that Lady Yvonne expected Mr. Smith and Colonel Fitzwilliam today, as she had been talking about it for some time. But for the gentlemen to visit _here_ on the day of their arrival, which, as it was still morning, meant they could not have arrived too long ago, was unexpected. Yet how it had any connection with _her_, Rose was at a loss to comprehend.

Further contemplation was put off as the callers were announced. Latent feelings of anger and indignation washed over her upon hearing his name. Drawing herself up, the fire in her heart glowing in her eyes, she was caught off guard to find his warm brown eyes already on her, regarding her with wonder and a hint of regret. She inhaled sharply. _Oh_, she'd forgotten he could do that. She was so angry with him for the way he'd manipulated and hurt those she cared about, yet somehow he befuddled her with just a glance, tipping her world off-kilter. Chiding herself for her own foolishness, she gathered her wits and made a slight curtsy, forcing herself to hold his gaze. In all truth, she wasn't sure she could look away.

And then the moment was gone, and he was once again the familiar, proud John Smith they knew from Torchwood. They soon found his cousin, Colonel Robert Fitzwilliam, to be most gracious and kind, and they all fell easily into conversation, leaving Mr. Smith to brood quietly in the corner. Just before leaving, however, the silent gentleman surprised Rose by asking after her family. Recovering quickly, she replied, "They were all quite well when I left, thank you."

The next question left her lips before she could check it, curiosity and a certain amount of her ire returning. "My sister has been in London for the last month or so. Have you happened to see her?"

To his credit, he looked a bit surprised at that. "No, I can't say I've had that pleasure." While he did not meet her eyes again, she could feel the weight of his gaze as she continued to converse with the others.

Rose's brow furrowed as she watched their visitors leave shortly thereafter. She had always prided herself for her understanding of people, but she felt at a loss when it came to John Smith.

* * *

The following week was a quiet one. Apparently their company was no longer required at Rosings since the gentlemen had arrived. Rose enjoyed the time alone with her friends but felt a growing restlessness within her, though she could not name a particular reason for it. She assuaged her antsy-ness by exploring the grounds of the parsonage, up to and occasionally onto her ladyship's bordering land. Nestled up against the trees at the outskirts of Lady Yvonne's property, she found a quaint gazebo, ivy curling up its sides, seemingly forgotten. It lay out of sight of either house, beckoning to her when the others were away or she just needed a bit of quiet. As it came into view she would allow herself to break into a flat-out run, finally collapsing against its pillars wonderfully breathless, her heart pounding. She would slide carelessly to the ground, letting her thoughts drift with the passing clouds or escaping into the book she'd secreted away with her, lulled by the quiet sounds of the forest.

After Easter service the next week, Lady Yvonne finally invited them to dinner again. They readily assented, having grown accustomed to the outing and eager to learn more about the amiable Colonel Fitzwilliam.

The man in question seemed quite happy for their company, relieved even. _And no wonder_, Rose thought with a smile, _having either silence or condescension for company_. He and Rose fell into easy and engaging conversation covering all manner of subjects, and their naturally animated and sometimes exuberant discourse attracted the attention of both Lady Yvonne and Mr. Smith. While the look he directed at her seemed primarily one of curiosity, it darkened as his eyes swept past her to where Robert sat, leaning toward her in earnest conversation. Perhaps they had had an argument, she reasoned, as their friendship had seemed quite open and affable before.

After dinner Robert entreated her to play for him as she had promised. Rose had secretly hoped he would forget but moved to the piano obligingly. She requested his help in selecting a piece, which led him to tell her about some of the concerts he'd attended in town, both the lovely and the wretched. Rose yearned for such opportunity and smiled hugely at his candidness.

As she began to play, Lady Yvonne demanded to know what subject had so diverted them. Rose didn't miss the way the Colonel rolled his eyes as he answered her, his face conveniently hidden from her sight.

"Music? You really should include us in your conversation then, Robert. I am well-known for my excellent taste in music, as I'm sure you've heard, and would have excelled at it if I had been inclined to learn. As would Isobel, if her health had allowed it. How is your sister's playing?" she asked of Mr. Smith.

"Quite wonderful, I think," he replied with an affectionate smile.

"Excellent. And I am sure she practices dutifully, which is the only true means to improvement. I have told Miss Tyler that she will never get better unless she devotes herself to practice. I invited her to play on the piano in Mrs. Jenkinson's room; she won't bother anyone there."

Rose focused on her song as she tried to contain her amusement at being thus "called out," biting her lip as she watched an appalled look cross Colonel Fitzwilliam's face. Mr. Smith was staring intently in the other direction, seeming quite ashamed of his aunt's tactlessness. Far from taking any offense herself, Rose smirked slightly. Apparently even the great Mr. Smith could be embarrassed by his family.

As Rose began her next piece, Mr. Smith rose, striding purposefully across the room and halting at the side of the piano, where he could observe her as she played.

Unthinkingly, as if she couldn't help herself, a coy smile lit Rose's face as she peered up at him, all austere and handsome and focused entirely on her. "Do you mean to frighten me, Mr. Smith, by coming in all this state to hear me? Because I don't scare easily. I am too stubborn to be cowed by the will of others. Those who challenge me often get more than they bargained for."

A gleam of amusement danced in his eyes. "I won't bother to protest, because," he remarked shrewdly, "you do not truly believe I meant to alarm you. I have had the pleasure of knowing you long enough to realize that you sometimes enjoy claiming opinions that are not your own."

Laughter fell from her lips at his pronouncement. Was he _teasing_ her? Shaking her head a bit in disbelief, she addressed Colonel Fitzwilliam, her fingers still tripping lightly, if imperfectly, across the keys. "Your cousin paints a rather unflattering picture of me, I'm afraid; he will lead you to doubt anything I say. Away from home and all, I thought I might be able to pretend to be finer and better than I really am, but he will not allow it. Don't you think that's rather unkind? I might be provoked to retaliate and share truths he would rather keep hidden."

The amusement in his eyes spread to rest of his face, and she could not help thinking how well it suited him. He smiled at her declaration of war. "I am not afraid of you."

"Oh, now I must know," Robert demanded, smiling as well. "How does he act among strangers?"

"You should prepare yourself, for it is quite shocking," Rose murmured, her voice low and somber. "At our first meeting, which happened to be at a ball, your cousin _refused_ to dance. At all. Not a single dance, despite the lack of gentlemen! Do you deny it, Mr. Smith?"

"Welll," he replied, drawing the word out and looking slightly uncomfortable, "we had only just arrived, and I did not know any of the ladies outside of my own party."

"True, and no one can be introduced in a ballroom," she replied, shaking her head with mock solemnity.

"Perhaps I should have done, but I do not easily recommend myself to strangers."

"Should we ask him why?" Rose demurred, addressing Robert once again. "Why a man of such intelligence and wit," here she was sure she caught him preening slightly, "would have trouble introducing himself to strangers?"

"Probably because he simply couldn't be bothered," Robert answered astutely.

John regarded them, a bit of the familiar hauteur slipping back into place. "I admit that I have little talent or patience in making small talk, particularly with someone I've only just met. I cannot fall easily into their conversation or pretend interest, as others do."

"I do not play this instrument with the same elegance and emotion I have seen others achieve. Yet I have always believed that to be my own fault for not troubling myself to practice, not because I believed myself incapable of it." Rose's eyes met his, daring him to contradict her.

Much to her surprise, a charming smile crossed his face instead. "You are quite right. You have made better use of your time. Those lucky enough to hear you play can find no fault with it. Neither of us perform to strangers."

Caught in the sincerity of his warm gaze, Rose only realized she had stopped playing when Lady Yvonne's voice cut through her haze, demanding once again to be a part of their conversation. Rose quickly resumed her playing, but her thoughts kept returning to Mr. Smith. Her reaction to him made no sense, considering the fierce anger and defiance she felt toward him when they were apart, and yet she could seem to help it. The almost flirtatious banter between them and the odd awareness they had of each other were natural and irresistible.

Mr. Smith returned to his aunt's side with reluctance. While that lady continued to praise Isobel's taste and untapped musical potential, Rose did not mark any signs of affection between the lady's daughter and Mr. Smith; Colonel Fitzwilliam showed more fondness for the girl than he did. Perhaps Miss Harkness stood a chance after all, as Mr. Smith seemed to show the same degree of indifference for his 'intended' as he did for anyone else.

As they departed, Rose noticed that Isobel did not return her smile this time, and there was a sad resignation mingled with her usually quiet demeanor. Rose's heart ached to reach out to the girl, but there was no opportunity at present. Perhaps on their next visit she could enlist Martha's help in getting her to open up a little.

If nothing else, the characters at Rosings gave her much to puzzle over.

* * *

The next morning, Rose sat alone at Mickey's desk writing a letter to Donna, as Martha and Tish had gone into town. Her train of thought was abruptly interrupted as a visitor was announced. Moments later, John Smith entered the room, alone.

He was obviously surprised to find Rose on her own, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes flitted about the room as if he expected someone to pop out from behind a piece of furniture. "I'm sorry. I didn't expect... I mean, I was sure Mrs. Collins and her sister would be here."

She invited him to sit, despite the slight tension in the air. After receiving his assurance that all was well at Rosings, the room fell into an awkward silence. Grasping desperately for any topic of conversation, she found herself broaching a matter she'd been curious about for some time.

"Your party left Torchwood so suddenly, Mr. Smith. Although I'm sure Mr. Harkness was pleased to see you again so soon. Were he and his sisters well when you left London?"

"Quite well, thank you." More silence followed, though she had rather expected it this time.

"I've heard that Mr. Harkness probably won't return to Torchwood," she pressed, hoping to elicit more of a response.

"He hasn't mentioned it to me. He is quite the socialite, though, so I would not be surprised if was often too busy to visit."

"If he doesn't plan to live there, it would be better for the neighborhood if he sold it. Y'know, so a family could settle there."

"I daresay he will sell it, if someone makes a fair offer."

Frustrated, Rose suddenly found herself unwilling to talk about Mr. Harkness or his plans any longer. She fell silent, leaving the task of further conversation to him.

Pulling on his ear, a nervous gesture Rose found annoyingly endearing, John glanced about the room again. "This is a nice place, isn't it? I hear Lady Yvonne offered her unparalleled decorating advice when Mr. Collins first arrived," he offered, mirth evident in his voice.

"Yeah. He was most grateful, too. But I think his priorities have... shifted a bit," Rose ventured, making no effort to hide her joy.

Mr. Smith's eyes darted up to lock with hers before he grinned. "That's a bit of an understatement. Your friend appears to be very good for him. The difference is astonishing, really, if my first impressions of him were at all accurate. Oh, I'm sorry, that was a bit rude, wasn't it?" Rose nodded, but she was smiling, which he took to mean he wasn't in too much trouble. He considered her thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. "She must be happy to be settled so near her family."

Rose started at that. "Near? It's almost fifty miles!"

"Welll... what's fifty miles of good road? Half a day's journey? A nice little trip, that's all." He looked up, studying the ceiling a moment, then said, "Roughly fifty miles, eighty kilometers, er, 264,000 feet, as the crow flies. I've always wondered - why a crow? Why not a sparrow, or ooh, an eagle! Nice majestic bird, the eagle! Anyway. All in all, a rather agreeable distance, don't you think?" He studied her as he spoke, watching her reaction intently.

Rose gaped at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Unsure how to answer, she bit her lip in concentration, contemplating the man before her. "Depends on your definition of agreeable, yeah? I s'pose a woman may be settled _too close_ to family."

Scooting to the edge of his seat, he leaned forward, his earnest gaze making her forget to breathe. It was all a bit disconcerting. "You don't wish to always live near the Powell estate, do you? To always stay in one place?"

His intensity and perceptivity surprised her into momentary speechlessness. As she tried to form a coherent reply to his peculiar line of inquiry, she realized that she had hesitated too long.

His face hardened as she remained silent, resuming its usual cool imperiousness. It almost hurt to witness the change, but really, how had he expected her to respond? Having composed himself once again into the picture of dignity, he asked her whether she was enjoying Kent.

They discussed the countryside with quiet civility and were joined minutes later by Martha and Tish. The shock on their faces at finding Rose and Mr. Smith in private conversation was undeniable. The gentleman quickly explained it away, however; he remained only briefly after their return and spoke very little.

Rose had seen the curiosity brimming in Martha's eyes and so was not at all surprised to have her friend's full attention the moment the front door clicked shut. "What on earth was that all about? I think he _must_ be in love with you, Rose, to call on us in such a familiar way."

They had talked before about Mr. Smith and his mercurial moods, though Rose had never admitted to the discomposure she often felt in his presence. However, once Rose told of his cool silence and reserve, even Martha agreed that it was unlikely that love was the cause.

They concluded that he must be bored or restless. Indeed he did not seem the type of man to be content with staying long in any one place, especially in such a house and with such company. He and the Colonel often visited the parsonage, lured outdoors by the pleasant walk and the variety of companionship. Colonel Fitzwilliam quite obviously enjoyed visiting with them. Rose, who took pleasure in their candid talks, could not help comparing him to Mr. Saxon, and while he did not have the same smooth charm of her former friend, Rose admitted that he had the advantage in intellect and sense.

The reason for Mr. Smith's frequent visits, however, was more of a mystery. He spoke infrequently, and then only seemed to do so out of a sense of obligation.

Colonel Fitzwilliam often teased him for his reticence, leading Martha to believe that such behavior was unusual for him. She was intrigued, as she herself had seen little evidence that the man _spoke_. Still hopeful that perhaps love was to blame, she made a discreet study of him, particularly in his interactions with Rose. However, her observations proved inconclusive, for while he seemed to be very aware of her friend, following her movements and conversation closely, she saw little emotion behind it. It seemed almost to be habitual, done without any thought on his part.

On the two occasions when she had suggested to Rose that he might care for her, her friend had laughed outright at the very idea, and Martha had dropped it. Martha knew that Rose claimed to detest the man who had betrayed Mr. Saxon and aided in Donna's heartbreak. Yet she could also sense an attraction there, an undeniable pull that they both seemed to deny. She didn't press the matter, though. That family had had enough of the disappointment borne from false hopes.


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's Note: Sorry this one took so long! I might have agonized over it, just a bit. It kinda took on a life of its own - I hope you like it! (crosses fingers) Many thanks to all of you for reading, and especially to those who have reviewed - your encouragement means the world to me! _

_Beta'd by lastincurableromantic, who properly rocks._

_Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. There will be some familiar dialogue that just demanded that to be left alone, so I did. All credit goes to the incomparable Jane Austen, the lovely screen adaptations of P&P, and the writers of Doctor Who._

* * *

On edge. Stir crazy. Jumpy.

_Restless_ - _the state of being unable to rest or relax as a result of anxiety or boredom_. Yep, that was was it. John Smith was _restless_. He could feel the nervous energy surging through his limbs, aching to be on the move again. Yet he kept delaying their departure, pushing it back for a day, a few days, another week. He was driving himself mad.

He pulled at his hair in agitation, adding to its already wild appearance. Why was he doing this to himself? Oh, he _knew_, of course. But the internal battle he'd been waging for months was now escalating beyond his control. He was so close to admitting defeat. He had fought valiantly, summoning every reason and defense to his side, yet in the end they all fell at the feet of one Rose Tyler.

In trying to maintain his sanity during this self-imposed imprisonment, he would take sweeping walks about the grounds, attempting to sort through the confusion in his usually brilliant and logical mind. Twice he had encountered Miss Tyler during these ramblings, quite innocently. Afterwards, though he hardly admitted it to himself, he had intentionally gravitated towards her 'preferred' paths, seeking out chances to be alone with her. She seemed to covet the same freedom he sought, relishing the open air and the lack of an audience. Twice he had caught sight of her racing like a wild thing across the lawn, her golden hair shining in the sun, and watched until she disappeared from sight.

Groaning at the familiar bent of his thoughts, he made a hasty excuse to his aunt and cousin before stalking outdoors. He had to find a way to fight this before it consumed him. The gap between her life and his just could not be bridged; they might as well be from different planets. A union like this would draw censure upon both him and his sister. He just _couldn't_. There were expectations and responsibilities for men like John Smith. He was the picture of propriety and dignity, a gentleman and a scholar, well, a proper genius, really. Now if he could just pull himself together and muster some self-control...

So lost in thought was he that he almost walked right over the subject of his musings. "Oh! Pardon me, Miss Tyler. I was a... a bit distracted." Her lovely face was aglow from her walk in the fresh morning air. He allowed himself a moment to admire it, long enough to register the surprise and amusement there before he forced his gaze away.

" 'S quite alright, Mr. Smith." He could hear the slight confusion in her voice when he continued to avert his gaze. As always, he fought between the urge to simply walk away from her, an acceptable if slightly rude option and surely the wiser choice considering his quandary, and the temptation to steal just a few more minutes with this brilliant woman.

"May I walk with you back to the parsonage?" _So much for self-control_, he thought. His reaction to her was instinctual, almost involuntary. Darting his eyes down to hers, he offered her his elbow, his arm tingling where her small warm hand curled around it.

Trying to maintain an appearance of calm, he remained silent, eyes straight ahead. He could not keep doing this, encouraging her and himself to entertain hopes for anything further between them.

Though they usually said little during these not-so-random encounters, he would always break as they drew close to their destination, unable to resist the chance to discover just a little more about her. Today, however, despite his slip, he was determined to remain polite but detached. So, naturally, she spoke first.

"I don't know how you manage in a house as large as Rosings. The other day I got turned about just leaving the library. I only found my way back because Thomas helped me."

Allowing his eyes to find hers again, he sighed in relief at the privilege. "And Thomas is...?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "One of your aunt's servants? 'Bout my father's age, I guess, grey hair, funny in a quiet sort of way?"

_Of course Rose Tyler would befriend the servants_. He knew those at his own house quite well, but had hardly spared a thought for the ones here, so accustomed to this life as he was. He tried to keep his wonder at her hidden, even as he felt another wall within himself crumble. "Of course. Perhaps you will come to know the house better when you are welcomed there as a guest rather than just a visitor." _Wait... what? _ He winced. He had been concentrating so hard on maintaining his composure that he had given voice to one of the most secret, forbidden hopes of his heart: that one day she would visit Rosings with him, as his...

_Stop it_. He closed his eyes and forcefully halted that train of thought.

When he opened them again, he noticed Rose's bewilderment, even as a blush spread over her cheeks. How could he recover from _that_ slip?

He escorted her the rest of the way in silence. He had to get away from her, for both their sakes. The impulse to run far and fast grew in proportion to the hold she had on his heart.

* * *

Once inside the sanctuary of the Collins' home, Rose exhaled loudly, trying to expel the frustration of the last half hour. She had grown accustomed to Mr. Smith's rather perplexing visits. However, while their frequency might indicate an attachment of some sort, his quiet, brooding behavior implied quite the opposite. But his comment today had flummoxed her. She could only suppose that he meant the possible union of herself and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and while there were much less agreeable men she could imagine a future with, she had never truly considered that possibility. Robert had become quite a dear friend, but now she was left to wonder if perhaps he felt more for her than he had shown and had intimated this to Mr. Smith. She shook her head. It was all nonsense, and she determinedly put it from her mind.

* * *

The following morning she spent in the gardens with Martha, Mickey, and Tish. She and Tish were helping with the weeding while the other two pruned and planted. Rose watched the couple fondly, noting the comfortable and efficient way they had as they worked. As the sun moved overhead they all retreated indoors to talk and relax, enjoying the weariness brought on by honest hard work.

By mid afternoon Rose decided to venture out of doors again, despite the distant threat of rain, taking with her Donna's most recent letter. She could feel the sadness hiding behind her sister's words and was saved from tears only by reflecting that in a couple of weeks' time they would be together again. Having wandered almost onto Lady Yvonne's land in her distraction, she was startled to look up and see someone there, and that it was not Mr. Smith this time, but his cousin.

Rose quickly tucked her letter away, along with her gloomy mood. "I don't usually see you out here," she greeted him, smiling. Her cheeks grew slightly pink as she remembered her musings from the day before.

His open, friendly smile soon put her at ease, however; they were friends, nothing more, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, we are leaving on Saturday, and I always like to make a tour of the grounds before I go. Were you going farther?" he asked, motioning behind him.

"No, actually, I was just about to head back," Rose replied, falling into step beside him. "You are definitely leaving, then? It seems your plans are a bit changeable. I've heard you had meant to leave at least twice already."

Robert laughed, raising his hands in protest. "Mr. Smith is the cause of our delay, not I. Not that I mind. He is the leader of our little party."

"He does seem like a man used to being in charge and having his own way."

"Very much so, though that stems from his wealth and position as much as his character. As a younger son, I am not used to such freedoms."

Rose scoffed a little at that, sending him a sideways glance that said as much. "The second son of an _earl_, sir, still has much more freedom than many could ever dream of. As a man of wealth, you are still free to buy whatever you like and go wherever you want. Am I correct?"

He knew Rose well enough by now that her bold pronouncement shocked him only slightly, leaving mostly amusement in its wake. "I am properly chastened, dear lady. It is true; I have never felt that degree of dependence. Though I am expected to marry well."

"A hardship, indeed," Rose intoned, her eyes mischievous. "Since your cousin seems to require a companion, I'm surprised _he_ hasn't married yet, just for the sake of convenience."

"Yes, well," he stuttered, a hesitancy in his manner that she'd yet to see in him, "his aunt has made known to me the understanding she had with his mother. And I feel I can trust you to answer honestly, Miss Tyler... have you seen any evidence of affection between my cousin and Isob-... Miss Hartman?"

Rose had to fight back the smile that threatened to overtake her face. So she _hadn't_ imagined the affection she'd seen him show for Isobel! And if her suspicions were correct, the feeling was quite mutual. "Nope. None at all," she declared, unable to hide the delight dancing in her eyes.

His answering smile was embarrassed but undeniably pleased. "Well, good then," he replied, clearing his throat self-consciously and changing the subject. "As far as Mr. Smith is concerned, he does enjoy company while traveling, usually either his sister or a friend."

"His sister... he is her sole guardian?"

"Actually, he and I share that duty."

"Really? Hmm. The two of you caring for a teenage girl? Does she give you much trouble?" she asked teasingly, thinking of Lynda and Lucy. She was more than a bit curious about Miss Smith. However, whatever else she thought of him, it was always quite obvious that Mr. Smith cared for his sister.

Therefore she was surprised by the look of alarm that momentarily crossed Colonel Fitzwilliam's face, which he quickly disguised as interest. "Why would you say that?"

"I have four sisters, Colonel. I know how much trouble we can be," she declared laughingly, trying to put him at ease, "and I wondered if she might have some of her brother's willfulness. But I have heard lovely things about her from Miss Harkness and Mrs. O'Brien. I believe you know their brother, Mr. Jack Harkness, who is a dear friend of Mr. Smith's?"

"I have met him. He is very friendly and spirited, and my cousin treats almost like a younger brother. I believe," he said, lowering his voice confidentially, "that he congratulates himself on having recently rescued him from a rather imprudent marriage. While he did not tell me much at all, nothing specific, I could easily see Mr. Harkness getting himself into such a scrape."

Rose felt a fire course through her veins and looked away, not trusting herself to meet his eyes in that moment. "Did he say why he felt he had to interfere?" she asked, her voice strained.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his puzzled look but pretended not to. "I believe there were some strong objections to the lady."

Biting her lip, Rose fell silent. She was almost shaking trying to hold back the hurt and anger tearing through her. _Objections?!_ She had suspected Mr. Smith's involvement, but to discover that he had orchestrated the separation, that he took _pride_ in it, was almost too much. To think that she had begun to soften towards that man! All of her initial dislike of him flooded back. His arrogance, his contempt, his unkindness to Mr. Saxon all paled next to the suffering he'd caused Donna. Surprised by the metallic taste in her mouth, she quickly released her injured lip.

"Are you alright?" Robert asked, concerned.

Rose took a deep breath, reminding herself that the man beside her was unaware of the import of his story. " 'Course. I just wonder a bit at Mr. Smith's presumption. What right did he have to meddle with his friend's choice if he was happy?" she exclaimed, passion creeping into her words despite her best efforts. "But, like you said, we don't know everything. Perhaps there was not much affection there to begin with."

Colonel Fitzwilliam's smile returned. "Maybe, though that would lessen my cousin's triumph somewhat, wouldn't it?"

Rose did not reply, _could_ not reply to that. The Colonel sensed her unease and changed the subject. As the parsonage came into sight, he viewed the darkening skies with apprehension. "I'm afraid I must go if I'm to avoid getting caught in the storm." A hint of worry in his kind eyes, he continued, "Will you be alright, Miss Tyler? You look a bit pale. Would you like me to walk with you the rest of the way?"

Rose attempted a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine, thank you. I do feel a bit _off_. Nothing a spot of rest can't fix." In truth her head was throbbing, probably as a result of her agitated state, but a kip was out of the question. She needed to get away. As much as she loved her friends, she did not feel like talking to anyone right now. Thankfully, Colonel Fitzwilliam accepted her answer and departed, taking the shortest route across the lawn to Rosings.

Turning abruptly, Rose fled towards her hiding place, heedless of whether she might be seen. She ran headlong into the wind, welcoming the grey clouds that raced towards her. Moments later the skies opened up with a vengeance, echoing the turbulence in her soul. By the time she reached the refuge of the gazebo she was soaked through, damp blonde curls sticking to her face and neck, her pink frock clinging to her skin. She leaned against one of its sides, trying to catch her breath and gain control of the emotions coursing through her.

A slight movement at the entrance made her whip around, gasping at the sight before her. There, his dark eyes stormy and wet hair falling down over his forehead, stood John Smith. Even in her anger she could not deny that he was gorgeous, though that thought only made her angry with herself as well. Before she could speak however, the dam broke. "Miss Tyler!? What on earth do you think you doing out here?" he demanded sharply.

Rose was stunned for a moment. _How dare he?_ Why was he here, anyway? He was most certainly the very last person she wanted to see right now, and yet here he stood, scolding her as if she was a child. Her fingers tingled, seized by an odd compulsion to fly, and only by sheer force of will did she manage to keep them by her side.

Whether he saw the warning in her eyes or his conscience reprimanded him she didn't know, but almost immediately his demeanor softened, his eyes still dark and intense. He ran a hand through his hair, showering them both with tiny drops as he backtracked. "I'm sorry, Miss Tyler. Please forgive me. Robert said you were unwell, and I was... worried. Are you alright?" he asked, glancing over her with genuine concern, his eyes lingering on her form a bit longer than was necessary.

"I'm fine, thanks," she replied shortly. Beneath the swirling, consuming anger, she recognized and was touched by his solicitude. He had followed her into a thunderstorm, and rather hastily, too. All because he was worried about her health? She could never quite suss this man out, and at the moment, considering this most recent revelation, she felt little inclination to. She folded her arms across her chest, glaring up at him as the storm raged outside.

He stared out at the rain for a minute, making no move to approach her, engaged in some internal struggle. He closed his eyes a moment and exhaled before turning to look at her again.

The passion Rose saw there caught her by surprise. "I can't fight this any more. Believe me, I have tried, but I can't. I won't." He paused, his eyes catching hers, their brown depths filled with fervent supplication. "I love you, Rose Tyler. Most ardently."

_Oh._

Rose was speechless. All the emotions she'd been wrestling with, the anger and hurt and indignation, refused to be reconciled with the picture before her. With the soft, reverent words that sent shivers down her spine. She blushed and stared as time slowed around her, her lips trying to form words that weren't there.

Taking courage from her silence, he continued. "I've been struggling for so long, holding myself back, but it's no use. I have fought against my better judgment, the expectations of society, my duty to my family, the impropriety shown by your own, the inferiority of your birth... But I am willing to ignore all these. Only please end my suffering, Miss Tyler, and do me the honor of accepting my hand."

Exhaling sharply, Rose sought to hold her simmering anger at bay. His hurtful words had woken her from the strange spell she'd fallen under. Even so, the fact that she had roused such powerful feelings in this man thrilled her. And much as she might like to, she could not deny the pull he had on her, the magnetism that he had obviously felt as well. She had no desire to wound him further. "I am sorry to have hurt you. Believe me, it was unconsciously done."

He quickly discerned her answer for what it was, and a look of incredulity overtook his face. "You're rejecting me?"

Rose's eyes flashed, her compassion evaporating in the face of his arrogance. "I'm sure that the feelings which held you back for so long will help you overcome your disappointment."

Hurt and anger radiated from him. He paused before continuing, his voice tight yet controlled, "May I ask _why_, with hardly a hint of civility, I am thus repulsed?"

"And I could ask why, with such an obvious attempt to insult me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your better judgment!"

Flustered, he tried to interject. "No, I..."

She paid him no notice, however; her indignation and anger would no longer be checked. "If I _was_ uncivil, is that not reason enough? But you know I have other reasons. Do you really think I would agree to marry the man who crushed the happiness of my dearest sister? 'Cause you _did_," she declared emphatically, tears stinging the back of her eyes. "They loved each other, and yet you tore them apart. You have made your friend appear fickle and unkind, and my sister seem foolish and pitiable. Do you deny it?"

He drew himself up proudly. "No, not at all. I did my best to separate them. I have been kinder to him than to myself."

His honesty, with that hint of vulnerability underneath, made her push farther, though her voice shook a little. "_Why?_"

"Aside from reasons similar to those I've already shared with you," he replied with surprising gentleness, "I had observed them closely, and believed her to be indifferent."

"_Indifferent?!_ Why would... Donna is just _shy_!" Rose protested feelingly.

"Mr. Harkness agreed with me, believing that his feelings were indeed stronger than hers."

"Only because you suggested it!" she cried out. "Donna hardly shows her true feelings to _me_! And you, you just..." Rose looked down, trying to hold back the overwhelming sorrow she felt for her sister, and so missed the look of regret that passed over his face. Before he had fully recovered himself, her large brown eyes met his again, blazing despite the tears there. "And what about Mr. Saxon?"

A coldness filled his eyes equal to the fire in hers as he drew closer to her. His voice was frighteningly quiet when he spoke. "_Mr. Saxon?_"

"How do you excuse your treatment of him?" she asked heatedly, brave in the face of his cold fury.

He pinned her with his gaze, his chocolate eyes dark with an anger and jealousy that he made no attempt to hide. "You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns."

Rose laughed once without amusement. " 'Course I do. How can I _not_, after hearing of his misfortunes?"

"Oh, yes," he replied, his voice low and dangerous, "his misfortunes have been great indeed."

Shock warred with the outrage in her expression, her whole body tense with it. "You reduce him to a life of dependence and relative poverty, and yet you dare to speak of him with contempt!"

He loomed above her. "So _this_ is your opinion of me?" he demanded, fury and passion and power rolling off of him in waves, rivaling the storm raging outside. "I am grateful to have such a thorough explanation. But perhaps these offenses might have been pardoned if your pride had not been hurt by my honest confession of my doubts. Could you really expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?"

Chin lifted proudly, her voice fierce and proud, Rose retorted, "You are mistaken, Mr. Smith, if you think your manner of declaration affected my answer. You have merely spared me the remorse I might have felt in refusing you, if you had behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner. You showed yourself from the start to be pompous and proud, far too important to be bothered about the feelings of others. I knew from the start that you were the _last_ man in the world I could ever marry."

Rose was trembling by the time she finished, eyes flashing and pulse racing, an avenging goddess. The anger and tension sparked between them, tangible and electric. Without warning the mood shifted slightly, charged with passion of a different sort, drawing them together without conscious thought until mere centimeters separated them.

The only sound was the rain falling steadily on the damp earth. His eyes darted from her eyes to her lips and back again. Rose stood rooted to the spot, spellbound, face upturned and watching him, unable - or _unwilling_ - to move.

A beat passed, and when his eyes met hers again, they were distant and filled with quiet remorse. Whatever madness had seized them had fled. His voice was soft, regret infused in every syllable. "Forgive me, madam, for taking up so much of your time." With one last look, he turned and was gone.

The strength that had been holding Rose up faltered, her hands seeking the rail behind her to keep from falling. She stood there for she knew not how long, the tears trailing down her cheeks in silent accompaniment to the rain.


	16. Chapter 16

_Author's Note: More revelations! I apologize for the long wait on this chapter. Real life combined with a healthy dose of self-doubt kept me from writing for a bit. I would love to hear from you, even if it's just to let me know what I could do better. : ) __Anyway, many thanks for reading - on to the story!_

_Beta'd by lastincurableromantic_

* * *

Once her tears subsided, Rose made her way distractedly back to the parsonage. Though the storm had abated, a light rain still fell. Normally she would have delighted in the way the rain tickled her skin, the lovely murmur that arose from the plants and trees as it padded against the leaves, the fresh, earthy smell all around her. To all this Rose remained oblivious, her thoughts turned inward, and so she was quite startled by the anxious welcome she received. Her friends, recognizing that she was distraught but unharmed, quickly sent her up to change out of her damp things. She did so automatically, feeling like an observer as her hands deftly completed the familiar tasks.

When she was satisfied that she looked presentable again, she descended with trepidation. She had not yet made peace with all that had transpired between herself and John Smith. How on earth could she share it with someone else?

Martha greeted her as she reached the last stair, pressing a warm cuppa into her hands and nudging her into the sitting room. She then shut the door behind them and pulled her chair closer to Rose's, looking at her friend expectantly as she took a sip of her own tea. "Something happened."

Rose blinked at her. She really did not want to talk about it, but she knew that determined look on her friend's face far too well, and suddenly the words came spilling out. "I got caught in the storm, and Mr. Smith found me." Martha's eyebrows shot up at that, but Rose rushed on, her voice rising as she went. "He... he admitted that _he_ convinced Mr. Harkness not to return. That he should forget Donna, that she was not worthy of him, that she didn't even care for him! And when I confronted him about his treatment of Mr. Saxon, he got all angry and arrogant. He didn't even try to deny it! Insufferable, _unfeeling_ git!"

"Rose!" Martha exclaimed, her face a mixture of shock and amusement, though the latter quickly faded, disbelief taking its place. "Really? He just suddenly decided to tell you all of this?"

Looking down, Rose noticed her hands were trembling and quickly set her cup down on the table. So many emotions coursed through her, including a few that she chose not to examine too closely. By far the one winning out, overshadowing all the others, was anger. While she made a supreme effort to tamp it down, it sent fresh fire to her spirit, melting away any lingering numbness.

"He did."

Their eyes met, neither one backing down. It was not a first for them, however. They could both be as stubborn as mules. Their fathers had often teased them about it growing up, making guesses as to whose daughter would be the first to cave this time. The familiarity of the moment hit them simultaneously, bringing a small but welcome relief to the tension as they smiled fondly at each other, years of friendship and understanding contained in one look.

They fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying their tea and watching the rain. Martha understood, even shared her friend's anger, especially regarding Donna. She also knew without a doubt that there was more to the story and that Rose would confide in her when she was ready.

Rose knew that Martha knew that she was holding something back, and loved her immensely for not pressing her any further. How could she even sensibly discuss something that made so little sense? A proposal from this man whom she had despised for so long, who had behaved so abominably towards her sister and her friend, and yet who stirred such inexplicable feelings in her? It confused and infuriated her. Maybe later she would be able to laugh over it as they usually did, but not yet. She had to make sense of her heart first.

* * *

The following morning when Rose awoke, the events and feelings of the previous day still pressed heavily upon her. She had not slept well.

As the day appeared sunny and mild, renewed by yesterday's downpour, Rose escaped into its welcoming arms. Her current distracted state would make her both unfit for anything productive as well as rather dull company. She carefully avoided her usual haunts, heading towards the gardens instead.

Clearing her mind of all else, she strolled amongst the flowers, occasionally tracing a finger over a downy leaf or stooping to catch the delicate scent of a flower. Thus pleasantly absorbed, many minutes had passed when she heard the sound of purposeful steps, and looking up spied the familiar form of Mr. Smith approaching from the direction of Lady Yvonne's orchards. Pretending that she had not seen him, she turned casually as if to head back towards the house, eager to put distance between them. She was not yet ready for another encounter with him.

"Miss Tyler."

_Shoot_. She had only just managed a few brisk steps before he called after her. There was no help for it now; she must talk to him. Closing her eyes, she took a fortifying breath as she stopped and drew herself up to face him. Her pulse was racing as she turned and their eyes met. _A natural biological response after the intensity of yesterday's meeting_, Rose reassured herself.

His entire demeanor was distant and reserved, in stark contrast to the last time she'd seen him. "I have been walking out here awhile, hoping to see you. Please, would you read this?" he inquired, holding out a letter. While his tone was cool, she caught a flicker of the hurt and vulnerability she'd seen yesterday in his glance. Holding his gaze, she reached for the letter without looking, accidentally brushing her fingers against his. A traitorous tingling flowed up the her hand and into her arm from the contact.

Mr. Smith nodded once, turning sharply to stride back towards the house. He and Colonel Fitzwilliam were leaving today. What could he have to say that was so important he'd whiled away the time waiting for _her_? Surely it could not be good, but Rose's curiosity was piqued, and she wandered over to the shade of a nearby chestnut tree to peruse the mysterious missive. She opened the letter, absently noting the rather elegant hand and considerable length before she began reading.

_Miss Tyler,_

_You need not worry that this letter contains any reprisal of the feelings which disgusted you yesterday. I have no wish to pain either of us further. I hope, however, that you will allow me this chance to address the other charges against my character, particularly my part in the separation of Mr. Harkness and your sister, and my dealings with Mr. Saxon. I can only give as answer my account of these matters, and while I am sorry for any offense it might cause, I value your intelligence and opinion too much to be anything less than completely candid with you. _

_Truthfully, I did not think much of Mr. Harkness' affection for your sister at first. He is naturally friendly and affectionate, perhaps overly so, and it was certainly not the first time I had seen him 'fall in love.' However during the ball at Torchwood, where I had the pleasure of dancing with you, I was startled to discover that a union between the two was generally expected. Now that my eyes had been opened, I could see plainly that Jack's devotion to your sister exceeded any trifling fancy. Your sister, while always cheerful and pleasant, did not show any signs of particular regard for him, however, at least by my observation. After hearing your account of it and of her character, I admit that I may have been mistaken in this. Yet I firmly believed it at the time, and when added to other objections, it strengthened my resolve to remove him from the situation. Disparities of class, birth, and connection aside, the lack of propriety shown by your mother, your sisters, and even your father was the most glaring and insurmountable obstacle of them all._

_Forgive me. It pains me to share such truths, knowing that they will hurt you. I would never willingly do so. You and your sister are blameless in this, your goodness and honor marred only by association. _

_After that evening I felt that I had to intervene, and with the agreement of his sisters we swiftly followed him to London, where I firmly encouraged him to remain. He had planned to return soon, and I believe he would have, despite all reason, until I raised doubts as to the strength of your sister's affection. Beneath all his amiability and confidence Jack is surprisingly modest, and when he saw that I earnestly believed it, he agreed to stay in town._

_My only regret is this: that I was aware of your sister's presence in London, yet concealed that knowledge from him, afraid that any contact might reignite his quiet yet persistent affection for her. While I am not proud of this deceit, I meant only to protect my friend, and any distress your sister endured was unintentional, I assure you. It is done, however, and I still believe it is for the best._

_Yet a heavier charge was also laid at my door, of injustice and unkindness towards one who was once a friend, that demands me to share a history I would rather keep secret. But I find I cannot part from you without having you know the truth._

_Mr. Saxon's father was a good man and managed our home estate of Gallifrey for many years. My father cared for him and his son and strove to give the boy an education and future that otherwise would have been unattainable to him. Mr. Saxon and I, therefore, grew up together and were friends in our youth, both of us rebellious and always up to some form of mischief. Yes, Miss Tyler, even I was a child once._

_After my mother's death, however, we grew apart, and he fell into such a corrupt and destructive lifestyle that I hardly knew him when we met again. He hid it well, as he had always had a knack for deception, and my father remained fond of him. Having been trained for the church, my father had promised him a position in our parish once it became open, as well as the sum of a thousand pounds upon his death. _

_My father was a noble, generous man and loving father, and when he died nearly ten years ago, I had every intention of honoring his wishes in this as in everything else. Upon the event of his own father's death later that same year, Mr. Saxon wrote me declaring his utter distaste for the church, and I couldn't help thinking that his decision might be the best for all concerned. He argued that he was too ambitious and wanted to study law, which was followed by a request for extra money in exchange for his forgoing the promised living. I hoped he was sincere, despite what I knew of his ways, and he readily accepted the three thousand pounds that was offered._

_I thought we were done. Much as it saddened me, I no longer knew or respected him enough to invite him to visit Gallifrey. Several quiet years passed, during which word occasionally reached me of him, a shiny veneer masking a life of dissolution and greed. When our clergyman passed on, I was surprised to receive another letter claiming that he had had a change of heart, that the law was not for him, and he would now very much appreciate the position. I refused, quite rightly I think. As he was now almost penniless and therefore desperate, he persisted, as did I, and by the end he clearly hated me. At last he abandoned his cause. I know nothing of what he did for the next three years until last summer, when he returned to our lives with a vengeance._

_I hesitate to continue, as what follows has been a constant source of pain and regret to me. I wish I could forget. I have never told another soul, and I place great faith in the belief that, once you have heard it, you will keep our confidence._

_Since my father's death, Colonel Fitzwilliam and I have shared the guardianship of my sister, who is nearly fifteen years my junior. Last year she left her schooling back home to study in London, accompanied by a woman named Mrs. Younge, by whom we were sorely deceived. The pair traveled to Ramsgate for the summer and were soon joined by Mr. Saxon, who proceeded, with this woman's help, to seduce and manipulate my sister. Calling up her childhood affection for him and exploiting her sweet, impressionable nature, he persuaded her to believe herself in love and to agree to an elopement. She was fifteen._

_I joined them unexpectedly, having suddenly (and fortuitously) found myself without pressing business and missing my sister's joyful presence. The discovery I made there shook me to the core. My dear, sweet Susan, who looks up to and loves me almost as a father, freely confessed everything upon seeing my distress. Only two days later, Miss Tyler, and I would have been powerless to protect her._

_I daresay you can imagine what I felt, the fury that burned within me. Mr. Saxon and Mrs. Younge fled. My concern for my sister's feelings and reputation kept me from denouncing him publicly, though he could not doubt the risk to himself if he dared to come near her again. He was quite obviously after her fortune of thirty thousand pounds, with the added perk of revenging himself on me._

_I hope you do not begrudge me this confession, as my reasons for revealing it were too important to be ignored. Of course you had no way of knowing of his cunning nature; you are too virtuous and compassionate yourself to suspect such duplicity in someone else. And perhaps I should have told you all this yesterday, but I'm afraid the strength of my feelings had completely overwhelmed my reason._

_I hope that you will no longer blame me, in this matter at least. If you doubt my word, you may question Colonel Fitzwilliam, who knows of it all. I have nothing more to add, except that I sincerely wish you every happiness._

_Johnathan Smith_

Rose came to herself with a start. She was still sitting beneath the tree, leaning against its trunk as she stared unseeingly past its translucent leaves, her mind reeling from what she'd just read.

Her initial confusion over the letter had changed to amazement at its almost apologetic tone, and then had shifted just as quickly to anger. In her eyes there was no acceptable defense for his actions against her sister, and she heard in it only his self-justification and pride. Her eyes flew over the pages, agitated and yet eager for more, her emotions everywhere at once. As she continued into his dealings with Mr. Saxon, a feeling of dread settled in her chest, pushing past her shock and denial. The possibility that she had been so abysmally wrong slowly took form and substance in her mind until it became probability.

His story and Mr. Saxon's were so similar, affirming each other up to a point, but that point was a monumental one, and Rose tried her best to view the matter objectively.

She had heretofore trusted Mr. Saxon and his assertions, yet as doubt crept in she began to question everything she knew and was shocked to realize how very little that was. She knew almost nothing of his past, aside from what he had told her. He had been a pleasant and entertaining companion, yet when she sifted through her memories, trying to find some display of goodness or integrity with which to dispute Mr. Smith's claims, she could not. She had been won over by his charm and openness alone. An openness that should have startled her, she realized. To confide such personal things to her so easily, when they had only just met, was highly improper, even suspicious.

Looking over her memories in this new light, she began to tremble with dismay and outrage. Mr. Saxon had boldly claimed to be unafraid of Mr. Smith, yet he had avoided the ball. He had _run_. Only after the Torchwood party left town did he have the nerve to publicly blast Mr. Smith's name.

She shivered as she recalled that first meeting, the look that had passed between them on the street that day that had left her so curious. Mr. Saxon had been quite obviously shaken, and Mr. Smith... Outwardly he had been composed, but Rose had witnessed the way he paled upon seeing this man, the barely controlled fury brewing in his eyes, mingling with what she now knew was concern when his gaze had met hers. Tears pricked her eyes as she recalled her words to him yesterday. She hurt for the pain she must have caused him, as she remembered the anger and torment in his impassioned gaze.

More moments began to present themselves to her scrutiny. Colonel Fitzwilliam's reaction to her teasing comments about Miss Smith, Mr. Saxon's sudden desertion of her company to woo Miss King (for which she had defended him to her aunt!), and Mr. Harkness' avowal of his friend's blamelessness in the matter all came to stand on Mr. Smith's side. While she might dislike his opinions or actions, all of the evidence showed him to be an intelligent, respected man, devoted friend, and affectionate brother.

"Oh, I have been so blind!" Rose cried out, unable to keep her emotions contained any longer. "Always thought I could read people so well, and I got it all wrong. I have been foolish, letting my judgment and reason be clouded by my own vanity. Hurt by the rejection of one, I chose to believe the man who flattered me instead. I am so ashamed. Till this moment I never knew myself."

Heart aching from this humbling realization, she began to wonder if perhaps her changed outlook might not affect his other claims as well. While she still felt angry and hurt by his interference between Donna and Jack, she grudgingly admitted that Donna did hold herself back around others. Hadn't Martha voiced the same concern? Only a handful of people got to know the real Donna, including herself, and, she had begun to suspect, Jack, which made his rejection even more hurtful.

Rose felt her cheeks grow red with shame as she reread the part concerning her family's conduct. She couldn't deny the truth of it, as she was rather familiar with their lack of decorum; it just smarted to hear it from someone else. Despite his kind words regarding herself and Donna, she could not help reflecting on how such domestics might injure their chance at happiness.

Running her fingers absently through the soft grass at her side, she finally rose to her feet, letting them carry her over the longer, more secluded path around the parsonage. She needed time to think, to ponder the revelations of the past two days and the truths she had uncovered about others and about herself.


End file.
